ETTERS  O 


mi 


m 


MAS  CARL 


"Mill] 


EDITED  BY 


CHARLES  TOWNSEND 


Has 


i  ill 


I  III!  In 


II  'ml 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


Cfjomas  CarlpU 


CRITICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  ESSAYS. 
With  Portrait  and  Index.     Riverside  Edition. 
4  vols.  121110,  #7.50. 
Popular  Edition.     With  Portrait.     2  vols.  i2mo, 

$3-  So- 
CORRESPONDENCE  OF  CARLYLE  AND  EM- 
ERSON, 1834-1872.  Edited  by  Charles 
Emot  Norton.  Including  newly  found  Let- 
ters and  new  Portraits.  2  vols,  crown  8vo, 
$4.00. 

LETTERS  OF  THOMAS  CARLYLE  TO  HIS 
YOUNGEST  SISTER.  Edited  by  Charles 
T.  Copeland.     Crown  8vo,  $1.50. 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  CO. 
Boston  and  New  York. 


V 


LETTERS 

OF 


Cfjomas  Carlple 

TO  HIS 

YOUNGEST   SISTER 


EDITED   WITH  AN 
INTRODUCTORY 

ESSAY   BY 


CHARLES   TOWNSEND   COPELAND 

LECTURER   ON    ENGLISH    LITERATURE 
IN    HARVARD    UNIVERSITY 


WITH  PORTRAITS  AND  OTHER 
ILLUSTRATIONS 


BOSTON   AND   NEW   YORK 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 

(Cbe  fltoer jibe  per t4,  Cambridge 

1899 


COPYRIGHT,  1899,  BY  HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 
ALL  EIGHTS  RESERVED 


f 

PREFACE 

The  letters  printed  in  this  volume  were 
mainly  written  by  Thomas  Carlyle  to  his 
youngest  sister,  Mrs.  Robert  Hanning,  who 
died  in  Toronto  on  the  thirteenth  day  of  De- 
cember, 1897.  Other  members  of  the  family 
are  represented  in  the  correspondence ;  there 
are  a  few  letters  —  these  perhaps  the  most 
interesting  —  from  Carlyle  to  his  mother;  a 
few,  also,  from  the  mother  to  her  oldest  and 
to  her  youngest  child.  The  collection  extends 
from  1832  to  1890,  when  Mr.  John  Carlyle 
Aitken  wrote  to  inform  his  aunt,  Mrs.  Han- 
ning, of  the  death  of  James  Carlyle,  her 
youngest  brother. 

The  editor  of  these  letters  found  it  desir- 
able to  make  a  careful  study  of  all  the  pub- 
lished Carlyle  documents.  The  introductory 
essay  on  Carlyle  as  a  Letter- Writer  grew  out 
of  a  comparison  between  Carlyle's  correspond- 
ence with  his  family,  and  his  letters  to  other 
persons,  already  printed  by  Mr.  Norton  and 
Mr.  Froude. 


051355 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Carlyle  as  a  Letter-writer 1 

Letters 

I.  Carlyle  to  Janet  Carlyle,  Scotsbrig,  January 

23,  1832 , 43 

II.  Carlyle  to  Mrs.  Hanning,  Manchester,  May  16, 

1836 54 

ITT.  Carlyle  to  Mrs.  Hanning,  Manchester,  July  8, 

1836 61 

IV.  To  Mrs.  Hanning,  Manchester,  from  her  Mo- 
ther, November  3,  1836 63 

V.  Carlyle  to  Mrs.  Hanning,  Manchester,  January 

19,1837 66 

VI.  To  Mrs.  Hanning,  Manchester,  from  her  Mo- 
ther, April  9  (1837) 75 

VII.  Carlyle  to  Mrs.  Hanning,  Manchester,  June  20, 

1837 77 

VLII.  Carlyle  to  Mrs.  Hanning,  Manchester,  July  18, 

1837 80 

IX.  Carlyle  to  Mrs.  Hanning,  Manchester,  August 

28,1837 87 

X.  To  Mrs.  Hanning,  Manchester,  from  her  Mo- 
ther, January  11  (1838) 93 

XI.  Carlyle  to  Mrs.  Hanning,  Kirtlebridge,  Febru- 
ary 7,  1840 96 

XH.  Carlyle  to  his    Mother,  Scotsbrig,  August  1, 

1840 102 

XHI.  Carlyle  to  Mrs.  Hanning,  Kirtlebridge,  Octo- 
ber 7,  1840 105 

XIV.  Carlyle  to  Mrs.  Hanning,  Kirtlebridge,  Janu- 
ary 15,  1841 109 

XV.  Carlyle  to   his  Mother,  Scotsbrig  (February, 

1841) 112 


VI  CONTENTS 

XVI.  Carlyle  to  Mes.  Hanning,  Dumfries,  No- 
vember 24,  1841 115 

XVII.  Carlyle   to   his  Mother,  Scotsbrig,   Jan- 
uary 8,  1842 118 

XVIII.  Carlyle  to  his  Mother,  Scotsbrig,  June  4, 

1842 124 

XIX.  Carlyle  to  his  Mother,  Scotsbrig,  July  4, 

1842 127 

XX.  Carlyle  to  Mrs.  Hanning,  The  Gill,  July 

21,  1842 129 

XXI.  Carlyle  to  his  Mother,  Scotsbrig,  Septem- 
ber 7,  1842 132 

XXII.  To   Carlyle  from  his  Mother,  September 

13,  1842 146 

XXIII.  To  Mrs.  Hanning,  The  Gill,  from  her  Mo- 

ther, Monday  (1840-1851) 147 

XXIV.  Carlyle  to  his  Mother,  Scotsbrig,  Septem- 

ber 19,  1842 148 

XXV.  Carlyle  to  Mrs.  Banning,  The  Gill,  No- 
vember 2,  1842 150 

XXVI.  Carlyle  to  his  Mother,  Scotsbrig  (early 

September,  1843) 154 

XXVII.  Carlyle  to  his  Mother,  Scotsbrig,  Septem- 
ber 12,  1843 156 

XXVIII.  Carlyle  to  his  Mother,  Scotsbrig,  Decem- 
ber 6,  1843 160 

XXIX.  Carlyle  to  his  Mother,  Scotsbrig,  March 

10,1844 162 

XXX.  Carlyle  to  Mrs.  James  Austin,  The  Gill, 

April  30,  1844 169 

XXXI.  Carlyle  to  Dr.  John  Carlyle,  Scotsbrig, 

August  5,  1844 172 

XXXII.  Carlyle   to   Mrs.   Hanning,   December  16, 

1844 175 

XXXIII.  Carlyle  to  his  Mother,  Scotsbrig,  July  12, 

1845 177 

XXXIV.  Carlyle  to  his  Mother,  Scotsbrig,  October 

17,  1845 180 

XXXV.  Carlyle  to  his  Mother,  Scotsbrig,  October 

31,1845 182 


CONTENTS  vii 

XXXVI.  Carlyle  to  his  Mother,  Scotsbrig  (Novem- 
ber 1/15,  1845) 185 

XXXVII.  Carlyle  to  Mrs.  Banning,  Dumfries,  June 

29,  1846 187 

XXXVIII.  Carlyle  to  Mrs.  Aitken,  Dumfries,  October 

17,  1846 190 

XXXIX.  Carlyle  to  Mrs.  Banning,  Dumfries,  Au- 
gust 18,  1849 192 

XL.  Mrs.  Thomas  Carlyle  to  Mrs.  Banning, 

Dumfries  (spring  of  1851) 196 

XLI.  John  Aitken  Carlyle   to  Mrs.  Hanning, 

Hamilton,  C.  W.,  June  27,  1851 198 

XLII.  Carlyle  to  Alexander  Carlyle,  Canada, 

October  24,  1851 201 

XLIH.  Carlyle  to  Mrs.  Hanning,  Canada,  April 

22,  1853 206 

XLIV.  Carlyle  to  Mrs.  Hanning,  Canada,  Decem- 
ber 28,  1853 210 

XLV.  Carlyle  to  Mrs.  Hanning,  Hamilton,  C.  W., 

April  8,  1855 217 

XLVI.  Carlyle  to  Mrs.  Hanning,  Hamilton,  C.  W., 

January  7,  1859 220 

XL  VII.  Carlyle  to  Mrs.  Hanning,  Hamilton,  C.  W., 

April  30,  1860 223 

XLVHI.  Carlyle  to  Mrs.  Hanning,  Hamilton,  C.  W., 

February  28,  1861 226 

XLIX.  Carlyle  to  Mrs.  Banning,  Hamilton,  C.  W., 

August  13,  1863 229 

L.  Carlyle  to  Mrs.  Hanning,  Hamilton,  C.  W., 

May  4,  1865 232 

LL  Carlyle  to  Mrs.  Hanning,  Hamilton,  C.  W., 

February  14,  1868 236 

LH.  Carlyle  to  Mrs.  Hanning,  Hamilton,  C.  W., 

February  13,  1871 238 

LHL  Carlyle  to  Mrs.  Banning,  Bamilton,  C.  W., 

January  2,  1873 242 

LIV.  Miss  Mary  Aitken  to  Mrs.  Banning,  Bamil- 
ton, C.  W.,  February  3,  1874 243 

LV.  Carlyle  to  Mrs.  Banning,  Bamilton,  C.  W., 

April  12,  1875 248 


Vlll  CONTENTS 

LVI.  Carltle  to  Dr.  John  Carlyle,  Dumfries, 

September  21,  1878 251 

LVII.  Mrs.   Alexander  Carlyle  to   Mrs.  Han- 
king, Hamilton,  C.  W.,  July  18,  1880.    .    .  254 
LVIH.  Mr.  John  Carlyle  Aitken  to  Mrs.  Han- 

ning,  Hamilton,  C.  W.,  February  11,  1881  .  256 
LIX.  Mrs.  Alexander  Carlyle  to  Mrs.  Hanning, 

Hamilton,  C.  W.,  March  3,  18S1 259 

LX.  Mr.  John  Carlyle  to  Mrs.  Hanning,  Ham- 
ilton, C.  W.,  May  11,  1S90 266 

Index 271 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

Thomas  Carlyle Frontispiece. 

The  Village  of  Ecclefechan.     From  a  photograph  .    .     42 

Carlyle  in  the  Garden  of  No.  5  Cheyne  Row.  From 
a  photograph  in  the  possession  of  Carlyle's  niece,  Mrs. 
G.  M.  Franklin 99 

Facsimile  of  a  Letter  to  Mrs.  Hanning.  An  addi- 
tional letter,  not  printed  elsewhere  in  the  book    ....  152 

Jane  Welsh  Carlyle.  From  an  early  photograph  now  in 
the  possession  of  Mrs.  Hanning's  family 196 

Carlyle's  Mother.     From  a  photograph  of  a  painting .     .  217 

Thomas  Carlyle.  From  a  photograph,  taken  in  his  old 
age,  by  Elliott  &  Fry,  London 237 

Janet  Carlyle  Banning.     From  a  photograph  ....  255 


CARLYLE  AS  A  LETTER-WRITER 

Most  persons  (perhaps  because  consciously 
or  unconsciously  they  hold  the  opinion  of 
George  Eliot,  that  serious  subjects  should  not 
be  discussed  in  letters)  try  to  entertain  their 
correspondents,  when  they  sit  down  to  write 
a  friendly  letter.  Famous  writers  are  no  ex- 
ception to  this  rule.  Horace  Walpole  adapts 
his  materials  with  the  nicest  art ;  Gray  is  sel- 
dom elegiac  in  prose;  and  Chesterfield,  not 
content  with  urging  his  son  to  "  sacrifice 
to  the  Graces,"  makes  his  own  epistles  an 
oblation  on  the  altar  of  those  ladies.  It  is 
evident  that  the  younger  Pliny  chooses  his 
best  stylus,  whether  a  Tuscan  villa,  or  the 
eruption  of  Vesuvius,  or  a  Corinthian  statu- 
ette form  his  theme  ;  and  the  fact  that  all  is 
composed  in  fear  of  Cicero  and  to  the  glory 
of  the  Latin  language  cannot  have  made  the 
composition  less  acceptable  to  his  contempo- 
raries. The  letters  of  Charles  Lamb,  the 
"  argument ':  of  whose  life  was  suited  to  a 
Greek  tragedy,  must  often  have  carried  sun- 


2  CARLYLE  AS  A  LETTER-WRITER 

shine  —  quaintly  filtered  through  Lamb's  per- 
sonality —  to  people  who,  had  they  but  known 
it,  were  far  better  off  than  their  correspond- 
ent. Cowper,  the  best  of  English  letter- 
writers,  was  also  one  of  the  most  cheerful, 
and  in  some  of  the  last  communications  with 
his  friends,  before  the  darkness  had  quite 
settled  over  him,  showed  himself  touchingly 
conscious  of  the  social  bond.  It  was  nearly 
always  dark  with  Cowper  when  he  was  ad- 
dressing the  Reverend  John  Newton,  the  evil 
genius  who  tried  to  be  his  good  genius ;  but 
let  it  be  remembered  that  Cowper  wrote  to 
Newton  the  escape  of  the  hares,  —  a  minia- 
ture Gilpin  in  prose.  Most  of  what  came 
from  Olney  and  Weston,  indeed,  gave  and 
repeated  an  impression  of  sprightly  serenity 
that  —  except  in  the  letters  to  Newton  —  sel- 
dom allowed  itself  to  be  clouded  with  the 
fear  which  so  often  kept  Cowper  trembling. 
When  Madame  de  Sevigne  smiles  through 
her  tears,  her  face  turned  always  toward  her 
daughter,  we  love  her  most.  We  do  not  feel 
that  she  is  not  making  the  best  of  things,  but 
merely  that  the  gayety  of  her  century,  thus 
dashed,  is  brought  nearer  the  key  of  our  own. 
Looked  at  from  this  point  of  view  of  good 
spirits,  whether  real  or  benevolently  feigned, 


CARLYLE  AS  A  LETTER-WRITER  8 

Carlyle  is  in  blackest  contrast  to  the  genial 
tradition  of  letter-writing.  As  early  as  when 
he  was  with  the  Bnllers  at  Kinnaird,  he  had 
frightened  his  family  with  an  eloquent  diag- 
nosis of  the  torments  of  dyspepsia,  and  after- 
ward often  practiced  a  becoming  caution  in 
complaining  too  loudly  of  anything  to  them. 
Toward  the  world  in  general,  however,  and 
toward  his  brother  John  —  who  alone  of  the 
family  lived  in  the  world  —  he  seldom  ob- 
served such  care.  What  he  felt,  he  thought ; 
and  what  he  thought,  he  wrote.  The  denun- 
ciatory mood  was  frequent  with  Carlyle,  and 
it  would  be  easy  to  collect  enough  of  his 
secular  anathemas  for  a  droll  sort  of  com- 
mination  service.  Men,  women,  and  children, 
if  they  disturbed  him,  came  in  for  his  curse. 
All  annoyances  spoke  to  Carlyle  and  his  wife 
through  a  megaphone,  and  were  proclaimed 
by  them  through  a  still  larger  variety  of  the 
same  instrument.  Every  cock  that  crowed 
near  their  house  was  a  clarion  out  of  tune, 
and  the  "  demon  -  fowls  '  were  equaled  by 
dogs,  of  which  each  had  to  their  ears  the 
barking  power  of  Cerberus.  When  Carlyle 
traveled,  fierce  imprecations  upon  everything 
viatic  were  wafted  back  from  every  stage  to 
the  poor  "  Goody "  in   Cheyne  Row,   often 


4  CABLYLE  AS  A  LETTER- WE  ITER 

while  she  was  facing  alone  the  problem  of 
fresh  paint  and  paper.  On  the  only  occasion 
I  can  now  recall  of  Carlyle  himself  being  at 
home  during  repairs,  they  were  to  him  what 
a  convulsion  of  nature  would  be  to  most  of 
us,  and  his  outcries  were  of  cosmic  vehemence 
and  shrillness.  In  these  wild  splutterings  of 
genius,  a  maid  servant  was  a  "puddle,"  a 
"  scandalous  randy,"  or  even  a  "  sluttish  har- 
lot;'1 a  man  servant  was  a  "flunkey;"  and, 
if  he  waked  Carlyle  too  early  in  the  morning, 
he  was  a  "  flunkey  of  the  devil."  Rank, 
wealth,  and  worldly  respectability  were,  it 
need  not  at  this  day  be  said,  no  defense 
against  these  grotesque  indictments.  The 
clergy  and  lovers  of  the  clergy  —  unless, 
indeed,  they  happened  to  be  anaemic  and 
"  Socinian  "  —  were  always  accused  of  "  shov- 
el-hattedness."  Persons  who,  from  Plato  to 
Scott,  waged  no  visible  warfare  with  their 
own  souls,  and  lived  their  lives  without  stated 
conversion  from  "  the  everlasting  No,"  were 
rarely  acceptable  to  Carlyle.  Any  man  of 
his  acquaintance  who,  besides  being  thus  at 
ease  in  Zion,  had  also  gathered  worldly  gear, 
was  apt,  according  to  Carlyle,  to  have  lost  his 
humanity  in  "  gigmanity."  London,  in  the 
word  he  gladly  borrowed  from  Cobbett,  was 


CABLYLE  AS  A  LETTER-WRITER  5 

a  "monstrous  wen;"  Europe,  "a  huge  suppu- 
ration;' mankind,  "  mostly  fools ; "  and  the 
world  at  large,  "  a  dusty,  fuliginous  chaos." 

If,  in  moods  which  give  forth  such  words, 
Carlyle  seems  to  write  with  a  quill  plucked 
from  the  fretful  porpentine,  a  new  book  of 
Lamentations  might  be  gathered  from  his 
other  frequent  and  familiar  condition.  This 
was  the  state  of  body  and  soul  which  moved 
him  to  sorrow  and  repining  over  himself, 
England,  and  the  world.  If  he  had  never 
made  his  great  success  in  literature,  these 
wailing  cries  might  plausibly  be  assigned  to 
the  disappointed  ambitions  of  a  man  whose 
lot  was  even  more  embittered  by  dyspepsia. 
But  in  this  respect  the  tone  of  the  appren- 
tice, throughout  a  wearifully  long  apprentice- 
ship, was  strangely  like  that  of  the  past  master 
in  literature,  who  for  the  last  twenty  years 
of  his  life  was  the  most  eminent  of  English 
writers.  There  is  doubtless  a  habit  of  mourn- 
ing as  of  rejoicing,  and  habit  counted  for 
much  with  Carlyle.  Yet  what  I  am  disposed 
to  contend  is  that  though  Aladdin's  lamp 
had  lighted  him  to  a  success  even  earlier 
than  Sheridan's  or  Kipling's,  his  books  and 
letters  would  still  from  time  to  time  have 
sounded  the  whole  gamut  of  Jeremiah.     It 


6  CABLYLE  AS  A  LETTER-WRITER 

was  in  his  Scotch  blood  that  thus  they  should, 
—  in  his  Puritan  spirit  and  his  Puritanical 
digestion.  In  short,  Carlyle's  melancholy 
was  from  temperament  far  more  than  from 
circumstance,  —  a  spiritual  habitude  to  which 
he  was  destined  and  born. 

See  the  sparks  fly  upward  in  March,  1822  : 
"  Art  is  long  and  life  is  short ;  and  of  the 
threescore  and  ten  years  allotted  to  the  liver, 
how  small  a  portion  is  spent  in  anything  but 
vanity  and  vice,  if  not  in  wretchedness,  and 
worse  than  unprofitable  struggling  with  the 
adamantine  laws  of  fate !  I  am  wae  when  I 
think  of  all  this,  but  it  cannot  be  helped." 
More  than  forty  years  after,  the  sad-eyed 
victor  in  his  chosen  field  reminds  us  that  he, 
more  than  most  men,  is  born  to  trouble.  In 
1865  he  writes  to  Emerson  from  Annandale : 
"  I  live  in  total  solitude,  sauntering  moodily 
in  thin  checkered  woods,  galloping  about, 
once  daily,  by  old  lanes  and  roads,  oftenest 
latterly  on  the  wide  expanses  of  Solway  shore 
(when  the  tide  is  out!)  where  I  see  bright 
busy  Cottages  far  off,  houses  over  even  in 
Cumberland,  and  the  beautifulest  amphithe- 
atre of  eternal  Hills,  —  but  meet  no  living 
creature;  and  have  endless  thoughts  as  lov- 
ing and  as  sad  and  sombre  as  I  like."     This 


CARLYLE  AS  A  LETTER-WRITER  1 

is  none  the  less  (perhaps,  rather,  the  more) 
sad,  for  all  the  wide  and  shining  landscape. 
A  few  lines  later  Carlyle  says :  "  You  perceive 
me  sufficiently  at  this  point  of  my  Pilgrimage, 
as  withdrawn  to  Hades  for  the  time  being ; 
intending  a  month's  walk  there,  till  the 
muddy  semi  -  solutions  settle  into  sediment 
according  to  what  laws  they  have,  and  there 
be  perhaps  a  partial  restoration  of  clearness." 
The  voice  of  1865,  though  early  in  the  in- 
terim it  gained  its  individual  accent,  is  still 
the  voice  of  1822. 

Malice  was  operant  in  this  choice  of  a  pas- 
sage from  one  of  Carlyle's  letters  to  Emerson, 
to  show  the  frequent  hue  of  his  spirit.  For 
not  only  is  the  mere  thought  of  Emerson  a 
cause  of  cheer  to  most  men, — to  Carlyle  him- 
self it  usually  brought  comfort,  —  but  Carlyle 
had  adopted  Emerson,  or  more  nearly  adopted 
him  than  any  one  else  except  Sterling,  into 
the  close  communion  of  his  own  family,  to- 
ward whom  he  generally  showed  compunction 
in  the  matter  of  invective  and  lament.  Yet 
in  writing  to  Emerson  and  to  them  he  would 
sometimes  forget  his  restraint,  and,  while  eat- 
ing his  heart,  would  invite  them  to  the  same 
repast.  It  has  been  said  that  Froude  made 
an  exceptionally  gloomy  selection  from  Car- 


8  CABLYLE  AS  A  LETTER-WRITER 

lyle's  correspondence,  and  that  Mr.  Norton's 
volumes  give  a  fairer  view  of  the  habitual 
tone  of  his  spirits.     So  far  as  they  are  con- 
cerned with  Emerson  and  with  Carlyle's  kin- 
dred, an  explanation  of  the  higher  average  of 
cheerfulness  has  already  been  offered.     But 
even  in  these  letters,  and   still  more  in  the 
rest  of  Mr.  Norton's  selections,  one  is  tempted 
to  inquire  whether  he  did  not  intend  (and 
very  properly)  to  redress  the  balance  which 
Froude  had  unduly  weighted  on  the  other 
side.     For  the  essence  and  gist  of  Carlyle's 
published  writings  —  books,  letters,  and  jour- 
nals —  is  that  "  it  is  not  a  merry  place,  this 
world  ;  it  is  a  stern  and  awful  place."     Much 
that  is  meat  to  other  men  was  poison,  or  tinc- 
tured with  poison,  to  him.     "  My  letter,  you 
will  see"  (he  wrote  to  his  brother  John  in 
1828),  "  ends  in  sable,  like  the  life  of  man. 
My  own  thoughts  grow  graver  every  day  I 
live."     He  could,  and  did,  suck  melancholy 
from  his   own   successful    lectures,   from  his 
own  books  and  the  books  of  others,  from  the 
state  of  the  nation  and  the  state  of  his  own 
health,  from   society,  from   solitude.     Craig- 
enputtock,  high  on  the  moors  between  Dum- 
friesshire   and    Galloway,   and    sixteen    miles 
from  the  town  of  Dumfries,  has  always  seemed 


CARLYLE  AS  A  LETTER-WRITER  9 

to  me  the  right  scenic  background  for  Car- 
lyle.  The  stone  farmhouse,  surrounded  by  a 
few  acres  of  land  reclaimed  from  peat  bog, 
stands  in  the  midst  of  bleak  hills,  seven  hun- 
dred feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea.  This  is 
the  right  scenery  for  Carlyle,  and  many  of 
his  most  characteristic  letters,  from  whatever 
places  written,  carry  with  them  a  feeling  of 
the  north,  November,  and  the  moors.  Had 
Froude  left  any  gaps  in  his  biography,  they 
might  be  bridged  with  sighs. 

Persons  who  talked  with  Carlyle,  or  who 
heard  him  talk,  often  received  a  different  im- 
pression. This  was,  no  doubt,  partly  because 
his  pentecostal  gift  excited  him  to  a  variety 
and  fire  of  speech  for  which  he  afterward 
paid  the  penalty  of  a  natural  enough  reac- 
tion ;  partly,  also,  because  the  sense  of  humor 
never  deserted  him  at  those  moments,  and 
rich  gusts  of  laughter  swept  away  boding 
prophecy,  fierce  invective,  and  the  whole  sym- 
bolic apparatus  of  Carlylean  denunciation. 
Humor,  indeed,  is  always  to  be  reckoned  with 
in  Carlyle ;  and  his  letters,  like  his  books, 
abound  in  a  range  of  it  —  seldom  genial  — 
that  extends  from  the  grim  to  the  farcical. 
But  you  cannot  hear  a  man  laugh  in  print ; 
and  where  in  a  Carlyle  conversation  the  stage 


10  CARLYLE  AS  A  LETTER-WRITER 

direction  would  be,  "  Exit  laughing,"  in  a 
Carlyle  letter  it  appears,  "  Exit  groaning  "  or 
"  Exit  swearing."  The  writer  "  laughs  off," 
as  Macbeth  and  Macduff  "fight  off;"  and 
the  reader  hears  but  the  ghost  of  a  laugh,  — 
a  faint,  imagined  reverberation. 

Hence,  loathed  Melancholy,  and  a  truce  to 
sable.  I  have,  perhaps,  made  too  much  of  a 
striking  characteristic,  however  indubitable, 
of  a  great  writer.  The  famous  rat  was  not 
always  gnawing  at  the  pit  of  his  stomach ; 
and  when  neither  the  mood  of  vituperation 
nor  the  mood  of  lament  was  upon  him,  he 
was  of  too  vigorous  and  too  honest  a  mind 
not  to  discuss  with  comparative  calmness 
many  subjects  that  interested  him.  What 
did  interest  him  and  what  didn't,  what  ap- 
pears in  his  letters  and  what  is  never  seen 
there,  would  make  a  catalogue  fairly  descrip- 
tive of  Carlyle's  intellectual  and  moral  consti- 
tution. Food  and  raiment  he  seldom  writes 
of,  save  as  necessities  of  life.  No  Christmas 
gastronomy  in  his  letters,  no  rule  for  "  cook- 
ing a  chub,"  no  incipient  essay  on  roast  pig. 
As  Carlyle's  pen  is  never  occupied  with  cards, 
one  concludes  that  "  old  women  to  play  whist 
with  of  an  evening,"  so  much  desired  by  a 
certain  delightful  letter-writer,  were  not  a  de- 


CARLYLE  AS  A  LETTER-WRITER  11 

sideratum  with  him.  Women,  in  fact,  play 
no  dominantly  feminine  part  in  his  life. 
Love,  as  a  passion,  he  apparently  does  not 
understand.  He  gave  no  more  sensitive  re- 
sponse to  the  fine  arts  than  Emerson,  in  whose 
books  there  are  many  "  blind  places,"  —  so 
says  Mr.  Chapman  in  his  original  and  im- 
portant essay  on  Emerson,  —  "  like  the  notes 
which  will  not  strike  on  a  sick  piano."  To 
name  the  theatre  is,  with  Carlyle,  to  scorn 
it.  Goethe  himself  could  not  make  him  care 
for  plays  or  play-acting.  Goethe's  Wilhelm 
Meister  he  learned  to  admire,  although,  had 
any  other  written  it,  the  book  would  have 
had  from  him  the  treatment  it  got  from 
Wordsworth.  If  we  may  believe  Froude, 
Carlyle  called  some  of  the  most  noteworthy 
French  novels  "  a  new  Phallus  worship,  with 
Sue,  Balzac,  and  Co.  for  prophets,  and  Ma- 
dame Sand  for  a  virgin."  Poetry,  art  allied 
to  his  own,  interests  Carlyle  only  through  its 
thought  or  its  lesson.  In  the  actual  affairs 
of  life,  he  desires  neither  money,  rank,  nor 
political  power.  He  gives  no  adherence  to 
any  religious  creed,  political  faith,  or  party 
leader.  He  often  feels  himself  in  a  "  minor- 
ity of  one,"  but  on  a  certain  occasion  doubles 
the  number,  to  include  Emerson. 


12  CAELYLE  AS  A  LETTER- WHITER 

Here  may  end,  without  special  reason  for 
ending,  the  catalogue  of  negatives  by  which 
people  learn  to  know  Carlyle  in  his  letters. 
Shorter,  not  less  impressive  or  informing,  is 
the  list  of  positives.  Words  Carlyle  must  have 
had  at  least  a  sneaking  fondness  for.  He 
does  not  admit  it,  but  he  uses  words  and 
phrases  in  a  way  that  tells  its  own  story  to 
those  upon  whose  ears  his  noblest  strains  fall 
like  music.  Very  often,  as  he  intended,  the 
words  stand  for  facts,  which  he  loved,  and 
for  which  he  was  proud  to  tell  his  love.  Pu- 
rity, honor,  and  truth  are  dear  to  Carlyle,  and 
he  celebrates  them  in  his  letters.  "Poor  and 
sad  humanity,"  although  it  often  moves  him 
to  scorn,  never  quite  loses  its  hold  upon  him  : 
his  letters  are  a  crowded  thoroughfare  of 
human  beings,  who  live  again  at  his  touch. 
Good  sayings  —  pious,  shrewd,  sage,  or  hu- 
morous, as  the  case  may  be  —  this  eloquent 
talker  rolls  under  his  tongue,  especially  when 
they  are  in  the  speech  of  the  Scottish  peo- 
ple. His  taste  for  humor  is  catholic  enough 
to  relish  jokes;  and  he  himself,  unclan- 
nish  chiefly  in  that,  jokes  without  difficulty. 
Strength  of  any  kind  bulks  so  large  in  Car- 
lyle's  esteem  that  the  historian  of  Cromwell 
and  Friedrich  has  often  been  accused  of  mak- 


CARLYLE  AS  A  LETTER-WRITER  13 

ing  might  his  right.  After  years  of  what  he 
felt  to  be  misrepresentation,  he  endeavored  to 
set  things  straight  by  declaring  that  right,  in 
the  long  run,  was  pretty  sure  to  be  mighty. 
However  this  may  be,  the  strength  of  contem- 
porary leaders  was  likely,  by  his  thinking,  to 
be  founded  on  unrighteousness ;  and  it  was 
easier  for  him  to  worship  his  heroes  through 
the  long  nave  of  the  past.  There  was  an 
altar  for  Cromwell,  but  —  alas  that  it  should 
have  been  so  —  there  was  none  for  Lincoln. 

Although  these  positives  are  lengthening 
themselves  out,  there  must  be  mention  here 
of  the  mother,  wife,  family,  and  friends,  who 
figure  so  engrossingly  in  Carlyle's  correspond- 
ence. I  think  we  gather  from  the  grand 
total  of  documents  in  the  case  that  he  loved 
his  mother  more  deeply  and  singly  than  he 
loved  any  other  person.  Yet  for  his  wife 
he  had  a  strong,  often  disquieted  affection. 
The  expression  of  this  in  his  letters  to  her, 
which  are  as  remarkable  for  emotion  as  for 
a  very  high  order  of  writing,  is  of  course 
less  checkered  than  it  could  have  been  in 
the  faring  together  of  two  such  yoke-fel- 
lows. In  the  action  of  temperament  upon  tem- 
perament, like  does  not  cure  like.  During 
the  long  episode  of  Gloriana,  it  is  often  pos- 


14  CAELYLE  AS  A  LETTER-WRITER 

sible  to  read  between  the  lines  of  Carlyle's 
letters  to  his  wife.  After  the  death  of  the 
first  Lady  Ashburton,  however,  occurs  the 
most  striking  passage  of  self-accusation  to  be 
found  in  any  letter  before  the  death  of  Mrs. 
Carlyle.  Carlyle  writes  to  her  on  the  11th 
of  July,  1858  :  — 

"  All  yesterday  I  remarked,  in  speaking  to 

,  if  any  tragic  topic  came  in  sight,  I  had 

a  difficulty  to  keep  from  breaking  down  in 
my  speech,  and  becoming  inarticulate  with 
emotion  over  it.  It  is  as  if  the  scales  were 
falling  from  my  eyes,  and  I  were  beginning 
to  see  in  this,  my  solitude,  things  that  touch 
me  to  the  very  quick.  Oh,  my  little  woman ! 
what  a  suffering  thou  hast  had,  and  how  no- 
bly borne !  with  a  simplicity,  a  silence,  cour- 
age, and  patient  heroism  which  are  only  now 
too  evident  to  me.  Three  waer  days  I  can 
hardly  remember  in  my  life ;  but  they  were 
not  without  worth  either ;  very  blessed  some 
of  the  feelings,  though  many  so  sore  and  mis- 
erable. It  is  very  good  to  be  left  alone  with 
the  truth  sometimes,  to  hear  with  all  its  stern- 
ness what  it  will  say  to  one." 

It  is  often  to  be  noted  that  no  great  mo- 
ment finds  Carlyle  without  a  great  word. 
Moving  as  is  the  utterance  just  quoted,  it  is 


CARLYLE  AS  A  LETTER-WRITER  15 

dumb  in  comparison  with  this,  written  after 
the  death  of  Mrs.  Carlyle  :  "  Not  for  above 
two  days  could  I  estimate  the  immeasurable 
depths  of  it,  or  the  infinite  sorrow  which  had 
peeled  my  life  all  bare,  and  in  a  moment  shat- 
tered my  poor  world  to  universal  ruin." 

Mother,  wife,  family,  and  one  or  two 
friends,  then,  were  very  dear  to  Carlyle. 
"  Love  me  a  little,"  he  writes  once  to  Emer- 
son. Next  to  these  few  persons,  nature  had 
perhaps  the  strongest  sway  over  him ;  and 
the  strange,  beautiful  landscapes  that  shine 
out  from  some  of  his  darkest  letters  would 
be  enough  to  found  a  reputation  on.  The 
phrases  live  in  one's  memory  as  if  they  had 
line  and  color. 

Two  main  facts  detach  themselves,  I  think, 
from  these  imperfect  suggestions  of  what 
Carlyle's  letters  contain  and  what  they  are 
vacant  of.  In  the  first  place,  no  one  can 
doubt  that  although  —  except  in  writing  to 
the  Annandale  kin  —  Carlyle  seldom  attempts 
to  control  himself,  is  seldom  interesting  or 
entertaining  of  set  purpose,  he  is  yet,  for 
interest  and  entertainment,  a  letter  -  writer 
among  a  thousand.  Single-minded  and  single- 
hearted,  true  as  the  very  truth,  in  the  words 
of  his  mouth  he  utters  the  meditations  of 


16  CARLYLE  AS  A  LETTER-WRITER 

his  heart.  Gifted  with  eloquence,  with  hu- 
mor, with  pathos,  with  eyes  that  see  every- 
thing and  a  memory  that  loses  nothing,  with 
an  energy  of  speech  which  (compared  with 
that  given  to  the  majority  of  his  fellow  crea- 
tures) is  clearly  superhuman,  Carlyle  uses  his 
amazing  literary  vehicle  as  an  Arabian  magic 
carpet  to  transport  him  to  his  correspondent. 
The  letter  is  the  writer ;  the  word  is  the 
man. 

So  much  for  one  fact.  The  other,  not 
now  stated  for  the  first  time,  is  that  Carlyle, 
in  his  familiar  letters  as  in  his  published 
works,  presents  the  curious  combination  of 
mystic  and  realist.  The  world  that  can  be 
tested  by  the  senses  is,  in  Carlyle's  belief, 
only  the  vesture,  sometimes  muddy,  sometimes 
clear,  of  the  divine  principle.  For  many 
readers,  the  expression  of  this  ruling  idea 
of  Carlyle  and  his  work  is  confused  not  only 
by  apparently  contradictory  phrasings,  but  by 
the  shifting  of  his  conception  of  God  between 
theism  and  pantheism.  When,  however,  Car- 
lyle utters  himself  most  earnestly  and  most 
characteristically  on  this  cardinal  point  of  his 
belief,  no  manner  of  man  can  misunderstand 
him.  "  Matter,"  exclaims  he,  "  exists  only 
spiritually,  and  to  represent  some  idea  and 


CABLYLE  AS  A  LETTER-WRITER  17 

body  it  forth.  Heaven  and  Earth  are  but 
the  time-vesture  of  the  Eternal.  The  Uni- 
verse is  but  one  vast  symbol  of  God  ;  nay,  if 
thou  wilt  have  it,  what  is  man  himself  but  a 
symbol  of  God  ?  Is  not  all  that  he  does  sym- 
bolical, a  revelation  to  sense  of  the  mystic 
God-given  force  that  is  in  him  ?  —  a  gospel 
of  Freedom,  which  he,  the  '  Messias  of  Na- 
ture,' preaches  as  he  can  by  act  and  word." 
It  was  only  to  be  expected  that  the  favorite 
quotation  of  a  man  whose  high  belief  can  be 
stated  thus,  of  a  man  who  regarded  time  as 
an  illusion,  should  be  the  lines  from  Shake- 
speare's Tempest :  — 

"  We  are  such  stuff 
As  dreams  are  made  on,  and  our  little  life 
Is  rounded  with  a  sleep." 

Now,  although  it  is  proverbially  difficult  to 
prove  a  negative,  the  ease  with  which  a  nega- 
tive can  be  stated  should  be  equally  matter 
of  proverb.  Accordingly,  we  find  that  Car- 
lyle,  in  his  letters,  a  hundred  times  denounces 
the  world  as  he  sees  it  for  once  that  he  de- 
scribes, or  even  suggests,  the  world  as  he 
would  see  it.  Silent  heroes  should  be  the 
rulers  of  England.  Silent  heroes  are  rare 
birds,  even  among  the  dead.  Instead  of 
them,   talking   parliamentarians    are    at    the 


18  CARLYLE  AS  A  LETTER-WRITER 

head  of  things ;  and  Carlyle  has  to  say  what 
he  thinks  of  Gladstone  and  Disraeli,  the  alter- 
nately ruling  talkers.     When,  in  1874,  Dis- 
raeli proposed  to   grant  him  a  pension  and 
bestow  on  him  also  the  Grand  Cross  of  the 
Bath,  he  wrote  to  John  Carlyle  :  "  I  do,  how- 
ever, truly  admire  the  magnanimity  of  Dizzy 
in  regard  to   me.     He   is   the   only  man  I 
almost  never  spoke  of  except  with  contempt." 
Men  of  letters  fare  no  better  than  men  of 
action.     They  should  be  priests,  in  white,  un- 
spotted robes.     What  does  Carlyle  find  them? 
In  1824,  after  pinning  Coleridge,  De  Quin- 
cey,  Hazlitt,  and  Leigh  Hunt  fiercely  to  the 
page,    he   writes   to    Miss  Welsh:    "'Good 
heavens  ! '  I  often  inwardly  exclaim,  '  and  is 
this  the  literary  world?'     This  rascal  rout, 
this  dirty  rabble,  destitute  not  only  of  high 
feeling  and  knowledge  or  intellect,  but  even 
of  common  honesty  !    The  very  best  of  them 
are  ill-natured  weaklings.     They  are  not  red- 
blooded  men  at  all.  .  .   .  Such  is  the  literary 
world  of  London  ;    indisputably  the  poorest 
part  of  its  population  at  present."     So  Car- 
lyle wrote  of  writers  when  he  was  putting  on 
his  literary  armor,  and  not  very  differently 
when   he  was  putting  it   off.     His   Hero   as 
Man  of  Letters  was  almost  invariably  seen  at 


CABLYLE  AS  A  LETTER-WRITER  19 

a  distance,  either  of  time  or  space.  He 
spitted  Coleridge  on  his  sharpest  spear,  and 
two  blasting,  withering  descriptions  of  Charles 
Lamb  —  with  forty  years  between  them  for 
reflection  —  remain  to  the  everlasting  hurt 
of  Carlyle's  own  reputation. 

Vitriol  blesseth  neither  him  that  gives  nor 
him  that  takes,  yet  Carlyle  stayed  to  the  end 
of  his  many  days  essentially  high-minded. 
Honorable,  simple,  helpful,  charitable  in  deed 
though  not  in  word,  he  was  seen  at  the  limit 
of  his  course  to  have  a  better  heart,  a  charac- 
ter less  deteriorated,  than  many  a  man  —  no 
less  good  at  the  start  —  who  has  indulged 
himself  with  "  omitting  the  negative  proposi- 
tion." The  habit  of  scorn  would  in  the  long 
run  have  been  more  harmful  to  character  than 
the  habit  of  tolerance  and  facile  praise,  ex- 
cept that  Carlyle  had  an  extraordinarily  high 
standard  of  principle  and  performance,  and 
held  to  it  not  only  in  his  judgment  of  others, 
but  also  in  what  he  exacted  of  himself.  The 
fact  that  Carlyle  never  tried  to  reconcile  the 
inconsistency  (as  it  may  have  seemed  to  some 
persons)  between  the  Deity  of  his  worship  and 
the  symbolic  manifestations  of  that  Deity  in  a 
world  so  little  to  Carlyle's  liking  no  doubt 
helped  him  to  keep  his  spiritual  integrity. 


20  CARLYLE  AS  A  LETTER-WRITER 

In  company  and  contrast  with  the  mysticism 
of  Carlyle's  thought  —  "  idealism  "  is  the  bet- 
ter word,  if  it  be  strictly  interpreted  —  is  the 
eager  realism  of  his  literary  methods.  As  a 
result  of  this  piquant  union,  Carlyle  means 
one  thing  to  one  man,  and  another,  quite  dif- 
ferent thing  to  another  man.  The  Carlyle 
of  X,  the  strait  idealist,  is  a  moonish  philoso- 
pher, to  be  shunned  by  A,  the  strait  realist, 
who  rejoices  in  the  closely  packed  narrative, 
the  wild  action,  and  the  portraits  of  men  and 
women,  that  make  but  a  trivial  appeal  to  X. 
This  union  of  natures  is  plain  enough  in 
Shakespeare,  in  whom  nothing  surprises.  The 
hand  which  gave  us  the  Tempest  gave  us  also 
Juliet's  nurse  and  Hotspur's  description  of 
"  a  certain  Lord."  Too  often,  however,  the 
idealist's  grasp  of  the  concrete  is  wavering 
and  intermittent;  too  often  the  soul  of  the 
realist  needs  little  feeding. 

Carlyle  vibrated  between  these  two  ele- 
ments of  his  nature,  and  fortified  one  with 
the  other.  When,  after  burrowing  in  the 
dust-heap  of  the  past  or  fishing  into  "  the 
general  Mother  of  Dead  Dogs,"  he  had 
brought  to  light  some  pearl  (or,  it  might  be, 
only  some  oyster-shell)  of  fact,  he  often  im- 
proved the  opportunity  to  show  the  larger 


CARLYLE  AS  A  LETTER-WRITER  21 

significance  of  the  little  gleam  or  glint  of 
reality.  It  was  the  defect  of  a  fine  quality 
that,  in  his  later  work,  and  especially  in  Fred- 
erick, he  spent  himself  on  irrelevant  facts 
which  helped  to  make  Carlyle's  longest  book 
a  splendid  failure,  with  episodes  of  indubita- 
ble success. 

The  looser  form  of  the  letter  more  properly 
admits  the  isolated  concrete.  Shrewd,  wel- 
come bits  of  fact  are  everywhere  in  Carlyle's 
letters;  everywhere,  too,  are  those  other  ex- 
pressions of  a  great  realist,  —  vividly  "  com- 
posed "  elements  of  landscape,  and  portraits 
that  give  every  token  of  life  except  breath. 
As  with  every  artist,  whatever  he  depicts 
takes  color  from  him,  and  is  seen  through  his 
temperament.  In  the  summer  of  1837  Car- 
lyle  writes  to  Sterling  from  Scotsbrig  :  "  One 
night,  late,  I  rode  through  the  village  where 
I  was  born.  The  old  kirkyard  tree,  a  huge 
old  gnarled  ash,  was  nestling  itself  softly 
against  the  great  twilight  in  the  north.  A 
star  or  two  looked  out,  and  the  old  graves 
were  all  there,  and  my  father  and  my  sister ; 
and  God  was  above  us  all."  Here  be  worn, 
familiar  things.  Gray  has  been  to  the  village 
churchyard  at  the  hour  of  parting  day,  and  a 
procession  has  followed  in  his  footsteps.    But 


22  CARLYLE  AS  A  LETTER-WRITER 

this  kirkyard,  where  Carlyle  has  since  laid 
himself  down  with  his  kindred,  is  Carlyle's. 

The  reappearance  (usually  heightened  or 
elaborated)  of  bits  of  prospect  or  topography 
first  recorded  in  Carlyle's  letters  is  an  inter- 
esting characteristic  of  his  writing.  His  first 
visit  to  Paris  was  of  much  service  to  him  in 
fixing  the  places  and  scenes  of  The  French 
Revolution ;  the  trip  into  the  country  of 
Cromwell's  birth  and  the  examination  of 
Naseby  field  come  into  sight  again  in  the 
book, —  witness  especially  the  "Cease  your 
fooling,"  and  the  troopers'  teeth  that  bit  into 
Carlyle's  memory ;  and  a  number  of  rough 
drafts  for  details  of  Frederick  appear  in  let- 
ters from  the  Continent.  A  brief  note,  dur- 
ing a  visit  to  Mr.  Redwood  in  1843,  of  the 
Glamorganshire  "  green  network  of  intricate 
lanes,  mouldering  ruins,  vigorous  vegetation 
good  and  bad,"  was  afterward  dilated  (in 
the  Life  of  Sterling)  into  the  spacious  and 
beautiful  landscape  beginning :  "  Llanblethian 
hangs  pleasantly,  with  its  white  cottages,  and 
orchard  and  other  trees,  on  the  western  slope 
of  a  green  hill  ;  looking  far  and  wide  over 
green  meadows  and  little  or  bigger  hills,  in 
the  pleasant  plain  of  Glamorgan." 

Distinguished  as  are  Carlyle's  portraits  of 


CABLYLE  AS  A  LETTEB-WBITER  23 

places,  it  is  probably  his  portraits  of  persons 
that  abide  longest  and  most  completely  in 
the  memories  of  most  readers.  Robespierre, 
Mirabeau  and  Mirabeau  pere,  Frederick  and 
Frederick  William,  —  it  is  one  sign  of  Car- 
lyle's  power  that  he  can  make  subordinate 
characters  salient  and  still  bring  out  his  hero, 
—  Voltaire,  Cromwell,  and  the  Abbot  Sam- 
son, are  a  few  of  the  pictures  that  line  his 
galleries.  Wonderful  as  are  these  render- 
ings of  men  he  never  saw,  his  sketches  of  men 
he  had  known  are  almost  literally  "  speaking 
likenesses."  Coleridge,  Leigh  Hunt,  Dickens, 
Thackeray,  Tennyson,  Mazzini,  Louis  Napo- 
leon, are  among  the  many  who  are  painted  to 
a  miracle  in  Carlyle's  letters.  Behold  a  great 
American,  in  a  letter  to  Emerson  :  — 

"  Not  many  days  ago  I  saw  at  breakfast 
the  notablest  of  all  your  Notabilities,  Daniel 
Webster.  He  is  a  magnificent  specimen; 
you  might  say  to  all  the  world,  This  is  your 
Yankee  Englishman,  such  Limbs  we  make  in 
Yankee-land  !  As  a  Logic-fencer,  Advocate, 
or  Parliamentary  Hercules,  one  would  incline 
to  back  him  at  first  sight  against  all  the 
extant  world.  The  tanned  complexion,  that 
amorphous  craglike  face ;  the  dull  black  eyes 
under  their  precipice  of  brows,  like  dull  an- 


24  CAELYLE  AS  A  LETTER-WRITER 

thracite  furnaces,  needing  only  to  be  blown  ; 
the  mastiff  -  mouth,  accurately  closed  :  —  I 
have  not  traced  as  much  of  silent  Berserker- 
rage,  that  I  remember  of,  in  any  other  man. 
*  I  guess  I  should  not  like  to  be  your  nigger ! ' 

At  the  risk  of  numbering  this  paper  with 
the  books  of  Chrysippus,  we  must  look  again 
at  the  portrait  of  De  Quincey,  which  is,  per- 
haps, the  artist's  chief  triumph.  Although 
it  is  to  be  found  in  the  Reminiscences,  it  yet 
belongs  here  well  enough,  for  that  book  is 
not  so  much  a  book  as  a  long,  rambling  let- 
ter, partly  of  remorse,  partly  of  pity,  from 
Carlyle  to  himself.  "  He  was  a  pretty  little 
creature,"  says  this  terrible,  sad  old  man,  re- 
membering after  forty  years,  "  full  of  wire- 
drawn ingenuities ;  bankrupt  enthusiasms, 
bankrupt  pride ;  with  the  finest  silver-toned 
low  voice,  and  most  elaborate  gently-winding 
courtesies  and  ingenuities  of  conversation : 
i  What  would  n't  one  give  to  have  him  in  a 
Box,  and  take  him  out  to  talk  ! '  (That  was 
Her  criticism  of  him ;  and  it  was  right  good.) 
A  bright,  ready  and  melodious  talker;  but 
in  the  end  an  inconclusive  and  long-winded. 
One  of  the  smallest  man-figures  I  ever  saw ; 
shaped  like  a  pair  of  tongs ;  and  hardly  above 
five  feet  in  all :  when  he  sat,  you  would  have 


CARLYLE  AS  A  LETTER-WRITER  25 

taken  him,  by  candle-light,  for  the  beauti- 
f  ullest  little  Child ;  blue-eyed,  blonde-haired, 
sparkling  face,  —  had  there  not  been  a  some- 
thing too,  which  said,  '  Eccovi,  this  Child  has 
been  in  Hell ! '  One  would  be  sure,  without 
other  evidence  than  "  Her  criticism  "  in  this 
description,  which  is  also  a  "  character,"  —  to 
use  the  old  word,  —  that  She,  too,  had  been 
terrible.  The  broken  order,  the  curious  punc- 
tuation, the  capitals  and  italics,  the  leave  of 
absence  granted  to  the  verb,  the  quick  inter- 
jections, all  taken  together  make  the  passage 
a  concentrated  example  of  Carlyle's  vox  hu- 
mana  style,  —  of  his  writing  when  it  is  most 
like  speech,  sublimated. 

In  his  use  of  persons,  as  of  places,  there 
are  pregnant  comparisons  to  be  made  between 
Carlyle's  first  study  and  the  final  portrait. 
Sterling  and  old  Sterling  are  cases  in  point ; 
Coleridge,  maybe,  the  best  instance  of  all. 
The  main  lines  and  the  personal  atmosphere, 
always  visible,  I  think,  in  the  sketch,  are 
reproduced  by  Carlyle  in  the  finished  work. 
But  in  the  heightening  of  lights,  in  the  deep- 
ening of  shade,  in  composition,  above  all,  he 
makes  many  changes,  which  almost  invariably 
result  in  greater  intensity  of  effect. 

From  such  comparisons,  if  patiently  con- 


26  CARLYLE  AS  A  LETTER-WRITER 

ducted,  might  come  luminous  comment  on 
the  question  of  Carlyle's  style,  —  a  question 
more  vexed  than  the  Bermoothes. 

So  far  and  so  much  for  Carlyle's  general 
aspect  as  a  letter-writer.  I  have  tried  to  show 
that,  in  addressing  himself  to  a  very  few 
friends,  and  especially  to  his  own  family,  he 
displays  a  different  set  of  qualities.  The  dif- 
ference between  his  vehemence  toward  the 
world  at  large  and  his  gentleness  toward  his 
mother  sometimes  seems  as  marked  as  that 
between  the  two  visions  of  the  prophet  Jere- 
miah :  the  one  a  seething  caldron,  the  face 
thereof  from  the  north ;  the  other,  a  rod  of 
an  almond  tree.  The  world,  in  truth,  for  this 
peasant  of  genius,  was,  to  the  considerable 
degree  in  which  he  remained  a  peasant,  an 
assemblage  of  persons  and  things  to  be  ap- 
proached with  many  reserves  and  a  deal  of 
more  or  less  violent  disapproval.  Annandale, 
contrariwise,  was  an  honest,  strength-giving 
corner  of  the  world,  which  did  for  him 
through  life  the  office  of  the  earth  to  An- 
taeus. He  went  back  to  it  so  often  that  he 
never  lost  his  native  accent,  and,  in  certain 
respects,  the  point  of  view  to  which  he  was 
born.  So  long  as  Carlyle's  mother  lived, 
there  was  rarely  a  year  in  which  he  did  not 


CABLYLE  AS  A  LETTER-WRITER  27 

make  a  pilgrimage  to  Scotsbrig;  and,  after 
she  died,  he  went  oftener  to  her  grave  than 
most  sons,  dwelling  at  a  distance  from  their 
mothers,  visit  them  in  life.  Scotsbrig  also 
came  to  him  in  the  shape  of  letters,  as  well 
as  in  the  unsentimental  (though,  rightly  be- 
held, not  unpathetic)  guise  of  oatmeal,  bacon, 
clothes,  and  what  not.  The  Carlyles  held 
that  good  meal  could  not  be  bought  in  Lon- 
don ;  and  when  the  barrel  wasted,  it  was  filled 
again  from  home.  One  far-brought  fowl  we 
all  remember  as  the  epic  subject  of  a  letter 
from  Mrs.  Carlyle  in  Chelsea  to  her  sister- 
in-law  in  Scotland.  Carlyle  had  his  clothes 
made  in  Annan,  partly  from  thrift,  partly 
from  distrust  of  London  tailors. 

However  much  he  depended  on  the  people 
and  the  kindly  fruits  of  his  native  soil,  how- 
ever much  the  exclusiveness  of  the  Carlyles 
may  have  been  only  that  common  to  all 
Scotch  peasant  families,  it  is  still  hard  to 
credit,  though  on  the  excellent  authority  of 
Mrs.  Oliphant,  that  their  mutual  love  was 
not  "  by  ordinar,"  even  among  Scotch  peas- 
ants. Especially  is  it  difficult  of  credence 
that  the  attachment  of  Carlyle  and  his  mother 
was  not  as  rare  as  it  was  beautiful.  In  1832, 
after  the  death  of  his  father,  he  writes  to  his 


28  CARLYLE  AS  A  LETTER-WRITER 

brother  Alick,  at  Scotsbrig  :  "  0  let  us  all  be 
gentle,  obedient,  loving  to  our  Mother,  now 
that  she  is  left  wholly  to  our  charge  !  '  Hon- 
our thy  Father  and  thy  Mother ' :  doubly 
honour  thy  Mother  when  she  alone  remains." 
For  twenty  years  this  double  honor  was  more 
than  trebly  paid.  The  son  writes  once  to  his 
mother  :  "  Since  I  wrote  last  I  have  been  in 
Scotsbrig  more  than  in  London."  And  so 
it  often  is  to  the  end,  —  and  after.  Dream- 
ing and  waking,  he  looks  far  up  across  Eng- 
land and  the  Sol  way.  In  the  spring  the  plow 
and  the  sower  pass  between  his  eyes  and  the 
page  of  Cromwell  or  The  French  Revolution ; 
in  the  autumn  he  has  a  vision  of  the  yel- 
low fields,  of  "  Jamie's  "  peat-stack,  and  the 
"  cauldron  "  singing  under  his  mother's  win- 
dow. The  mother's  trembling  thought  of  her 
children  answers  their  love  for  her.  "  She 
told  me  the  other  day  "  (writes  one  of  Car- 
lyle's  sisters),  "  the  first  gaet  she  gaed  every 
morning  was  to  London,  then  to  Italy,  then 
to  Craigenputtock,  and  then  to  Mary's,  and 
finally  began  to  think  them  at  hame  were, 
maybe,  no  safer  than  the  rest.  When  I  asked 
her  what  she  wished  me  to  say  to  you,  she 
said  she  had  a  thousand  things  to  say  if  she 
had  you  here  ;  '  and  thou  may  tell  them,  I  'm 
very  little  fra'  them.'  " 


CABLYLE  AS  A  LETTER-WRITER  29 

As  from  his  first  clear  earnings  Carlyle  sent 
his  father  a  pair  of  spectacles,  and  his  mother 
"  a  little  sovereign  to  keep  the  fiend  out  of 
her  hussif,"  so  throughout  he  never  forgot 
her  in  the  least  or  the  greatest  particular. 
From  year  to  year  he  sent  her  money  and  to- 
bacco, —  which  they  often  smoked  together 
in  the  farmhouse,  —  books  and  comforts  and 
letters.  The  letters,  of  course,  were  far  the 
best  of  all  to  her.  Often  as  they  came,  they 
could  not  come  often  enough.  In  1824  Mar- 
garet Carlyle  wrote  to  her  son  :  "  Pray  do 
not  let  me  want  food  ;  as  your  father  says,  I 
look  as  if  I  would  eat  your  letters.  Write 
everything  and  soon."  Everything  and  soon 
it  always  was  ;  and  in  these  many  letters  Car- 
lyle strove  to  bring  near  to  the  untraveled 
ones  at  home  all  that  he  was  seeing  and 
doing.  One  means  of  doing  this  was  to  de- 
scribe interesting  places  in  terms  of  Annan- 
dale.  Thus,  in  telling  his  sister  Jean  about 
Naseby,  he  wrote  :  — 

"  Next  day  they  drove  me  over  some  fif- 
teen miles  off  to  see  the  field  of  Naseby  fight 
—  Oliver  Cromwell's  chief  battle,  or  one  of 
his  chief.  It  was  a  grand  scene  for  me  — 
Naseby,  a  venerable  hamlet,  larger  than  Mid- 
dlebie,  all  built  of  mud,  but  trim  with  high 


30  CAELYLE  AS  A  LETTER-WRITER 

peaked  roofs,  and  two  feet  thick  of  smooth 
thatch  on  them,  and  plenty  of  trees  scattered 
round  and  among.  It  is  built  as  on  the  brow 
of  the  Hagheads  at  Ecclefechan  ;  Cromwell 
lay  with  his  back  to  that,  and  King  Charles 
was  drawn  up  as  at  Wull  Welsh's  —  only  the 
Sinclair  burn  must  be  mostly  dried,  and  the 
hollow  much  wider  and  deeper." 

Carlyle  knew  that  his  mother  would  be 
eager  to  hear  of  Luther  and  Lutherland.  In 
September  of  the  last  year  but  one  of  her 
life,  he  writes  to  her  from  Weimar  that 
"  Eisenach  is  about  as  big  as  Dumfries ; ' 
that  a  hill  near  by  is  "  somewhat  as  Lock- 
erbie hill  is  in  height  and  position."  The 
donjon  tower  of  the  Wartburg  (which  he 
translates  for  her,  Watch  Castle)  stands  like 
the  old  Tower  of  Repentance  on  Hoddam 
Hill,  where  his  mother  had  visited  him  during 
his  "  russet-coated  idyll "  there,  many  years 
before.  "  They  open  a  door,  you  enter  a 
little  apartment,  less  than  your  best  room  at 
Scotsbrig,  I  almost  think  less  than  your 
smallest,  a  very  poor  low  room  with  an  old 
leaded  lattice  window ;  to  me  the  most  ven- 
erable of  all  rooms  I  ever  entered."  That 
afternoon  they  drive  to  Gotha  in  a  "  kind  of 
clatch."     Carlyle  helps  out  his  English  for 


CARLYLE  AS  A  LETTER-WRITER  31 

his  mother  with  bits  of  their  common  Doric, 
and  falls  unconsciously  into  Scotch  locutions, 
such  as  "  you  would  be  going,"  or  "  you 
would  be  doing,"  when  he  means  "  you  are 
likely  to  go  "  or  "  likely  to  do."  In  larger 
matters  it  is  the  same.  Carlyle  may  have 
been  chanting:  the  Miserere  to  some  corre- 
spondent,  but  if  he  writes  to  his  mother  on 
the  same  day,  the  note  changes  to  Sursum 
corda,  even  though  it  must  visibly  struggle 
up  from  the  depths.  Nor  do  the  Immensities 
and  the  Eternities  appear  in  his  letters  to  her. 
In  these  the  Lord  her  God  is  also  his  God. 

The  belief  in  personal  immortality  came  to 
Carlyle,  so  far  as  I  can  discover,  but  dimly 
and  infrequently.  This  chill  lack  of  faith, 
so  common  in  our  day,  sharpened  the  dread 
of  his  mother's  death.  So  early  as  1844  he 
writes  in  his  Journal :  "  My  dear  old  mother 
has,  I  doubt,  been  often  poorly  this  winter. 
They  report  her  well  at  present :  but,  alas ! 
there  is  nothing  in  all  the  earth  so  stern  to 
me  as  that  constantly  advancing  inevitability, 
which  indeed  has  terrified  me  all  my  days." 
Yet,  in  Carlyle's  letters  after  her  death,  a 
dovelike  peace  seems  to  brood  over  his  deep 
sorrow.  With  Roman  piety  he  records  the 
death-trance,  sixteen  hours  long,  in  which  his 


32  CARLYLE  AS  A   LETTER-WRITER 

mother,  her  face  "  as  that  of  a  statue,"  lay 
waiting-  for  the  end.     It  was  another 

"  Dulcis  et  alta  quies,  placidseque  simillima  morti;" 

and  all  Carlyle's  words  about  that  holy  part- 
ing are  grave  and  sweet. 

Whatever  of  loveliness  there  may  have  been 
in  the  life  together  of  Carlyle  and  his  wife, 
—  and  there  was  much,  in  spite  of  all  that 
has  been  said  to  the  contrary,  —  in  death 
they  were  far  divided.  She  lies  with  her 
gentle  forbears  in  the  abbey  kirk  at  Hadding- 
ton ;  he,  in  Ecclefechan  kirkyard  with  his 
peasant  forbears.  When  Carlyle  was  dying, 
the  Lord  remembered  for  him  the  kindness 
of  his  youth,  —  his  mother  might  have  be- 
lieved, —  and  "  his  mind  seemed  to  turn  alto- 
gether to  the  old  Ecclefechan  days."  Said 
his  niece,  Mrs.  Alexander  Carlyle,  writing 
just  after  his  death  :  "  He  often  took  Alick 
for  his  father  (uncle  Sandy),  and  he  would 
put  his  arms  round  my  neck  and  say  to  me, 
'  My  dear  mother.'  " 

Great  writer  as  Carlyle  is,  many  critics  feel 
that  he  can  never  become  classical.  The 
word  "  classic,"  as  Sainte-Beuve  has  pointed 
out,  is  a  stretchable  term  ;  but  very  possibly 
the  Soudanese  lexicographer,  descended  from 


CARLYLE  AS  A  LETTER-WRITER  33 

a  native  o£  New  Zealand,  will  label  many  of 
Carlyle's  phrases  "  post-classical,"  and  place 
him  with  Browning  and  Ruskin,  who  felt  his 
influence,  in  the  Silver  Age  of  English.  Cer- 
tainly, the  Soudanese  Quintilian  will  do  well 
to  tell  his  pupils  the  story  of  Erasmus's  ape, 
and  warn  them  against  the  danger  of  imitat- 
ing Carlyle.  Classical  or  post-classical,  Car- 
lyle's name  is  as  closely  linked  with  the 
French  Revolution  and  the  Life  of  Oliver 
Cromwell,  as  is  the  name  of  Thucydides  with 
the  Peloponnesian  War,  that  of  Tacitus  with 
the  Emperors  of  the  Julian  line,  or  that  of 
Gibbon  with  the  Decline  and  Fall  of  their 
Empire.  Yet  even  if  Carlyle's  historical  titles 
were  torn  from  his  grant  of  immortality,  he 
would  survive  as  one  of  the  most  remarkable 
of  English  letter-writers. 


LETTERS  OF   THOMAS  CARLYLE   TO 
HIS  YOUNGEST  SISTER 


LETTERS 


Mrs.  Hanning  (Janet  Carlyle)  was  born,  as 
were  all  her  brothers  and  sisters  before  her, 
in  the  village  of  Ecclefechan.  The  following 
notes  of  her  life  are  supplied  by  her  son-in-law, 
the  Rev.  George  M.  Franklin :  — 

"  She  was  reckoned  the  neatest  seamstress 
of  the  family,  and  received  the  rare  compli- 
ment of  praise  from  her  eldest  brother  (Thomas 
Carlyle)  for  having  done  excellent  work  on 
some  shirts.  Robert  Hanning,  an  old  friend 
of  the  Carlyles,  going  to  the  same  school  with 
Janet,  and '  looking  on  the  same  book,'  wooed 
and  won  her.  They  were  married  at  Scots- 
brig,  on  March  15,  1836.  They  went  to 
Manchester,  England,  to  live,  as  Mr.  Hanning 
was  employed  by  a  Mr.  Craig,  and  subse- 
quently was  a  partner  in  the  business.  This 
business  having  proved  unprofitable,  they  re- 
turned to  Scotland,  and  Mr.  Hanning  entered 


38  LETTERS  OF  CARLYLE 

into  business  with  his  brother  Peter  as  part- 
ner. This  proved  also  a  failure.  Soon  after- 
ward the  family  went  back  to  Dumfries.  Mr. 
Hanning  sailed  for  America,  arriving  at  New 
York  ;  and  after  working  there  for  a  time 
left  that  city  for  Hamilton,  Ontario,  his  fu- 
ture home.  Mrs.  Hanning  and  her  two  chil- 
dren remained  in  Dumfries,  although  she  had 
wished  much  to  go  with  her  husband  and 
share  his  fortunes.  Thomas  persuaded  her, 
i  against  her  judgment,'  as  she  has  said,  to 
wait  until  her  husband  was  settled.  Mr. 
Hanning  was  a  man  of  strong  convictions  and 
the  highest  moral  principle.  The  reunion  of 
his  family  was  effected  in  1851,  when  the 
wife  and  two  daughters  left  Glasgow  in  a 
sailing-vessel,  the  passage  to  Quebec  occu- 
pying about  seven  weeks.  Then  taking  a 
steamer  from  Quebec,  they  reached  Hamilton 
in  good  time.  This  was  before  the  building 
of  the  Great  Western  Railway.  Mrs.  Han- 
ning soon  made  a  home  for  her  devoted  hus- 
band, earning  the  commendation  '  brave  little 
sister.'  Mr.  Hanning  entered  the  service  of 
the  Great  Western  Railway  of  Canada  in 
1853,  and  remained  with  that  company  until 
his  death,  which  occurred  March  12,  1878." 
An  indispensable  guide  to  the  correspond- 


THE  CARLYLE  FAMILY  39 

ence  will  be  found  in  the  following  list,  given 
by  Professor  Norton,  of  the  children  of  James 
Carlyle,  with  the  dates  of  their  births, — 
Thomas,  born  December  4,  1795  (died  at 
Chelsea,  February  5,  1881)  ;  Alexander,  born 
August  4,  1797 ;  Janet,  born  September  2, 
1799  ;  John  Aitkin,  born  July  7, 1801 ;  Mar- 
garet, born  September  20,  1803  ;  James,  born 
November  12,  1805  ;  Mary,  born  February  2, 
1808  ;  Jean,  born  September  2,  1810  ;  Janet 
(Mrs.  Hanning),  born  July  18,  1813. 

Among  the  persons  mentioned  by  Mr. 
Franklin  as  visiting  Mrs.  Hanning,  the  most 
distinguished  was  Emerson,  who  went  to  Ham- 
ilton in  the  summer  of  1865.  "  Mr.  Emerson 
placed  her  in  a  chair  near  the  window,  so 
that  he  might  the  more  readily  examine  her 
features,  and,  looking  into  her  eyes,  ex- 
claimed, l  And  so  this  is  Carlyle' s  little 
sister  ! '  " 

Mention  of  "  the  youngest  stay  of  the 
house,  little  Jenny,"  is  rare  and  slight  in  the 
published  letters  and  memorials  of  Carlyle. 
Froude,  in  an  ingeniously  careless  passage, 
confuses  her  with  an  older  sister,  Jean.  He 
speaks  of  "  the  youngest  child  of  all,  Jane, 
called  the  Craw,  or  Crow,  from  her  black 
hair."     Carlyle,  on  pages  92  and  93  of  the 


40  LETTERS  OF  CARLYLE 

second  volume  of  the  Reminiscences,  —  in 
Mr.  Norton's  edition,  —  mentions  both  Jean 
and  Jenny :  "  There  was  a  younger  and 
youngest  sister  (Jenny),  who  is  now  in  Can- 
ada ;  of  far  inferior  '  speculative  intellect '  to 
Jean,  but  who  has  proved  to  have  (we  used 
to  think)  superior  housekeeping  faculties  to 
hers." 

"  My  prayers  and  affection  are  with  you 
all,  from  little  Jenny  upwards  to  the  head 
of  the  house,"  writes  Carlyle  to  his  mother 
on  October  19,  1826,  after  a  form  common 
enough,  with  its  variations,  in  his  early  let- 
ters. Occasionally  she  has  done  something 
to  be  noted.  On  October  20,  1827  :  "  Does 
Jenny  bring  home  her  medals  yet  ?  '  On 
November  15  :  "  Does  Jenny  still  keep  her 
medals  ?  Tell  her  that  I  still  love  her,  and 
hope  to  find  her  a  good  lassie  and  to  do  her 
good."  In  the  spuing  of  1828  Carlyle  writes 
from  Scotsbrig  to  his  "  Dear  Little  Craw '; 
in  Edinburgh  :  "  Mag  and  Jenny  are  here  ; 
Jenny  at  the  Sewing-school  with  Jessie  Combe, 
and  making  great  progress."  Mrs.  Carlyle 
adds,  in  a  postscript  to  an  1835  letter  to  Mrs. 
Aitken  :  "  Carlyle  has  the  impudence  to  say 
he  forgot  to  send  his  compliments  to  Jenny  ; 
as  if  it  were  possible  for  any  one  acquainted 


JENNY  CARLYLE  41 

with  that  morsel  of  perfections  to  forget  her ! 
Tell  her  I  will  write  a  letter  with  my  own 
hand,  and  hope  to  see  her  '  an  ornament  to 
society  in  every  direction.'  In  a  preface  — 
written  many  years  after  —  to  a  letter  to  Jean 
Carlyle,  bearing  date  November,  1825,  and 
signed  Jane  Baillie  Welsh,  Carlyle  explains : 
"  This  Jean  Carlyle  is  my  second  youngest 
sister,  then  a  little  child  of  twelve.  The 
youngest  sister,  youngest  of  us  all,  was  Jenny 
[Janet],  now  Mrs.  Robert  Hanning,  in  Ham- 
ilton, Canada  West.  These  little  beings,  in 
their  bits  of  grey  speckled  [black  and  white] 
straw  bonnets,  I  recollect  as  a  pair  of  neat, 
brisk  items,  tripping  about  among  us  that 
summer  at  the  Hill."  Letter  and  preface  are 
given  by  Froude,  as  is  also  a  letter  from  Car- 
lyle to  his  wife,  dated  Scotsbrig,  May  3,  1842, 
and  ending  thus  :  "  Yesterday  I  got  my  hair 
cropped,  partly  by  my  own  endeavours  in  the 
front,  chiefly  by  sister  Jenny's  in  the  rear. 
I  fear  you  will  think  it  rather  an  original 
cut." 

In  1827 :  "  Tell  her  that  I  still  love  her, 
and  hope  to  find  her  a  good  lassie  and  to  do 
her  good  ; '  in  1873,  in  Carlyle's  last  letter 
to  Mrs.  Hanning  written  with  his  own  hand  : 
"  I  please  myself  with  the  thought  that  you 


42  LETTERS  OF  CARLYLE 

will  accept  this  little  New  Year's  Gift  from 
me  as  a  sign  of  my  unalterable  affection,  whh, 
tho'  it  is  obliged  to  be  silent  (unable  to  write 
as  of  old),  cannot  fade  away  until  I  myself 
do  !  Of  that  be  always  sure,  my  dear  little 
Sister ;  and  that  if  in  anything  I  can  be  of 
help  to  you  or  yours,  I  right  willingly  will." 

All  the  letters  that  follow  are  strung  on  a 
slender  thread  of  biography.  Even  readers 
who  know  their  Carlyle  thoroughly  may  like 
to  see,  from  year  to  year  and  from  page  to 
page,  the  contrast  between  his  life  in  the 
world  and  his  life  with  the  peasant  kindred 
who  were  so  far  from  everything  that  men 
call  the  world.  And  although  nothing  in 
these  letters  will  add  to  our  knowledge  of 
Carlyle,  they  cannot  —  taken  together  —  fail 
to  touch  us  freshly  with  the  sense  of  what  he 
was  to  his  people,  and  what  they  were  to 
him. 

Carlyle's  life  until  1832,  the  year  of  the 
first  letter,  may  be  most  briefly  summarized. 
The  son  of  James  Carlyle,  a  stone-mason,  he 
was  born  at  Ecclefechan,  "  in  a  room  incon- 
ceivably small,"  on  the  4th  of  December, 
1795.  He  went  to  school  at  Annan,  and,  in 
1809,  to  the  University  of  Edinburgh.  Five 
years  later  he  returned  to  the  Annan  school 


-J 
>< 

< 
u 

< 

o 

X 


u 

< 

s 

ffl 

z 
<J 

a 

w 

fa 

u 

w 


TO  JANET  CARLYLE  43 

as  a  teacher  of  mathematics,  and  in  1816 
went  to  Kirkcaldy  to  teach  the  same  subject. 
After  an  experience  of  literary  hack  work  in 
Edinburgh,  which  began  when  he  was  twenty- 
three  years  old,  he  became  tutor  in  the  Buller 
family.  A  long,  strange,  and  ill-boding  court- 
ship ended,  on  the  17th  of  October,  1826,  hi 
his  marriage  with  Jane  Baillie  Welsh.  She 
had  a  small  inherited  estate  at  Craigenput- 
tock,  high  up  on  the  moors,  and  sixteen  miles 
from  Dumfries ;  and  there,  two  years  after 
their  marriage,  they  went  to  live  for  six  years. 
In  1831  and  1832  they  were  merely  trying 
their  wings  in  London. 

"  Mrs.  Welsh  "  was  Mrs.  Carlyle's  mother. 
"  Maister  Cairlill  "  was  a  frequent  name  for 
Carlyle's  brother  James.  The  family  had 
been  living  at  Scotsbrig  since  1826.  Carlyle 
was  thirty-six  years  old,  and  his  sister  nine- 
teen, when  the  following  letter  was  written. 

i.  carlyle  to  janet  carlyle,  scotsbrig. 

Ampton  St.,  London, 
23rd  January,  1832. 

My  dear  Jenny,  —  Will  you  put  up  with 
the  smallest  of  letters  rather  than  with  none 
at  all  ?  I  have  hardly  a  moment,  and  no 
paper  but  this  thick,  coarse  sort. 


44  LETTERS  OF  CARLYLE 

Understand  always,  My  dear  Sister,  that  I 
love  you  well,  and  am  very  glad  to  see  and 
hear  that  you  conduct  yourself  as  you  ought. 
To  you  also,  my  little  lassie,  it  is  of  infinite 
importance  how  you  behave  :  were  you  to  get 
a  Kingdom,  or  twenty  Kingdoms,  it  were  but 
a  pitiful  trifle  compared  with  this,  whether 
you  walked  as  God  command  you,  and  did 
your  duty  to  God  and  to  all  men.  You  have 
a  whole  Life  before  you,  to  make  much  of  or 
to  make  little  of :  see  you  choose  the  better 
part,  my  dear  little  sister,  and  make  yourself 
and  all  of  us  pleased  with  you.  I  will  add 
no  more,  but  commend  you  from  the  heart 
(as  we  should  all  do  one  another)  to  God's 
keeping.  May  He  ever  bless  you !  I  am  too 
late,  and  must  not  wait  another  minute.  We 
have  this  instant  had  a  long  letter  from  Mrs. 
Welsh,  full  of  kindness  to  our  Mother  and 
all  of  you.  The  Cheese,  &c,  &c,  is  faithfully 
commemorated  as  a  "  noble "  one ;  Mary  is 
also  made  kind  mention  of.  You  did  all  very 
right  on  that  occasion.  Mrs.  Welsh  says  she 
must  come  down  to  Scotsbrig  and  see  you  all. 
What  will  you  think  of  that  ?  Her  Father, 
in  the  meantime,  is  very  ill,  and  gives  her  in- 
cessant labour  and  anxiety. 

See  to  encourage  Jean  to  write,  and  do 


DEATH  OF  HIS  FATHER  45 

you  put  your  hand  a  little  to  the  work. 
What  does  Maister  Cairlill  think  of  the  last 
letter  he  wrote  us?  Was  it  not  a  letter 
among  many?  He  is  a  graceless  man.  I 
send  you  a  portrait  of  one  of  our  Chief  Radi- 
cals here :  it  is  said  to  be  very  like. 
I  remain  always,  My  dear  Sister, 
Your  affectionate 

T.  Carlyle. 

On  January  24,  —  Froude  gives  the  date 
wrongly  as  the  26th, — the  day  after  the  date 
of  this  letter,  Carlyle,  still  in  London,  heard 
of  the  death  of  his  father,  at  the  age  of  sev- 
enty-three. He  wrote  immediately  to  his  mo- 
ther in  terms  which  place  the  letter  high  even 
among  his  letters ;  and  in  less  than  a  week  he 
had  uttered  the  wail  of  genius  that  stands 
first  in  the  Reminiscences,  —  a  book  which 
has  "  no  language  but  a  cry."  By  April  he 
was  back  again  at  Craigenputtock,  where  it 
was  so  still  that  poor  Mrs.  Carlyle  could  hear 
the  sheep  nibbling  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away. 
Carlyle  had  now  a  new  grief  in  the  death  of 
Goethe,  who,  making  of  him  a  disciple,  had 
left  him  a  teacher  on  his  own  account.  The 
loss  of  Goethe  found  a  measurable  compensa- 
tion in  correspondence  with  Mill,  who  had 


46  LETTERS  OF  CARLYLE 

been  kindled  into  something  very  like  fire  by 
Carlyle's  review  of  Croker's  Boswell,  just 
published  in  Fraser's  Magazine.  It  is  one  of 
the  greatest  of  Carlyle's  briefer  performances, 
although  written  at  short  notice.  "  Carlyle," 
said  his  wife,  "  always  writes  well  when  he 
writes  fast."  This  essay,  indeed,  has  a  high 
place  in  the  development  of  an  idea  which 
may  be  stated  as  Croker's  Boswell,  Macaulay's 
Boswell,  Carlyle's  Boswell,  and  —  Boswell. 

There  followed  now  essays  on  Goethe  and 
Ebenezer  Elliott's  Corn  Law  Rhymes  (Car- 
lyle's last  contribution  to  the  Edinburgh 
Review),  and  a  highly  important  article  on 
Diderot  for  the  Foreign  Quarterly.  In  the 
autumn  of  1832,  Carlyle  notes  that  the 
money  from  the  essay  on  Goethe  has  gone 
in  part  payment  of  Jeffrey's  loan,  that  Craig- 
enputtock  has  grown  too  lonely  even  for  him, 
and  that  his  literary  plans  demand  a  library. 
Not  only  must  the  work  on  Diderot  have 
assured  him  of  his  ability  to  fuse  and  weld 
the  most  stubborn  materials,  but  it  opened 
his  eyes  to  the  French  Revolution  as  a  sub- 
ject for  his  pen.  Moved,  then,  by  weariness 
of  the  solitude  a  deux  among  the  peat  moss, 
and  by  this  new  purpose  in  writing,  the  twain 
removed  to  Edinburgh  toward  the  end  of 
1832. 


AT  CRAIGENPUTTOCK  47 

Four  months  of  Edinburgh  were  enough 
to  convince  Carry le  that  here  was  for  him  no 
continuing  city ;  enough,  also,  to  enable  him 
to  collect  and  carry  back  to  Craigenputtock 
the  substance  of  The  Diamond  Necklace,  one 
of  the  best  of  his  tragi-comic  pieces. 

The  loneliness  of  "  the  whinstone  strong- 
hold  "  on  the  moors  was  cheered  in  the  fol- 
lowing August  by  Emerson's  memorable  visit. 
"  We  went  out  to  walk  over  long  hills," 
writes  Emerson  in  English  Traits,  "  and 
looked  at  Criffel,  then  without  his  cap,  and 
down  into  Wordsworth's  country.  There  we 
sat  down  and  talked  of  the  immortality  of 
the  soul." 

The  essay  on  Cagliostro,  written  in  March, 
1833,  was  printed  in  Fraser's  Magazine  for 
July  and  August ;  and  Fraser  agreed  to  pub- 
lish Sartor  Resartus  in  the  next  volume, 
"  only  fining  Carlyle  eight  guineas  a  sheet 
for  his  originality."  This  gadfly  tax  on  gen- 
ius; the  Foreign  Quarterly's  refusal  of  The 
Diamond  Necklace,  patently  a  masterpiece 
though  it  was ;  Jeffrey's  refusal  to  recom- 
mend Carlyle  for  a  professorship  of  astron- 
omy ;  and,  by  way  of  climax,  the  defection  of 
one  of  those  maids  whose  misdemeanors  con- 
tinue a  servile  war  through  so  many  of  the 


48  LETTERS   OF  CABLYLE 

Carlyle  chronicles,  directed  Carry le's  gaze 
toward  what  Johnson  thought  the  fairest 
prospect  ever  spread  before  a  Scotchman. 
Emerson  had  observed  that  "  he  was  already 
turning  his  eyes  towards  London  with  a 
scholar's  appreciation,"  and  at  last,  on  the 
25th  of  February,  1834,  Carlyle  wrote  to  his 
brother  John  :  "  We  learned  incidentally  last 
week  that  Grace,  our  servant,  though  i  with- 
out fault  to  us,'  and  whom  we,  with  all  her 
inertness,  were  nothing  but  purposing  to 
keep,  had  resolved  on  'going  home  next  sum- 
mer.' The  cup  that  had  long  been  filling  ran 
over  with  the  smallest  of  drops.  After  medi- 
tating on  it  for  a  few  minutes,  we  said  to  one 
another:  'Why  not  bolt  out  of  all  these  sooty 
despicabilities,  of  Kerrags  and  lying  draggle- 
tails  of  byre-women,  and  peat-moss  and  iso- 
lation and  exasperation  and  confusion,  and 
go  at  once  to  London  ?  '  Gedacht,  gethan  ! 
Two  days  after  we  had  a  letter  on  the  road 
to  Mrs.  Austin,  to  look  out  among  the 
'  houses  to  let '  for  us,  and  an  advertisement 
to  Mac  Diarmid  to  try  for  the  letting  of  our 
own."  Cattle,  poultry,  and  various  superflui- 
ties, were  sold.  Carlyle  went  on  ahead,  and 
was  guided  by  the  airy  steps  of  Leigh  Hunt, 
then  a  dweller  in  Upper  Cheyne  Row,  Chel- 


IN  LONDON  49 

sea,  to  the  house  Number  5,  Great  Cheyne 
Row,  which  the  new  tenants  soon  made  inter- 
esting to  much  of  what  was  best  in  London 
(to  much,  also,  Mrs.  Oliphant  has  taken  pains 
to  say,  of  what  was  not  the  best),  and  event- 
ually to  the  English-speaking  world.  The 
house  was  not  taken  until  Mrs.  Carlyle  had 
inspected  and  approved  it.  A  few  days  after 
the  10th  of  June,  the  date  of  their  installa- 
tion, Carlyle  wrote  to  his  mother :  "  We  He 
safe  at  a  bend  of  the  river,  away  from  all  the 
great  roads ;  have  air  and  quiet  hardly  infe- 
rior to  Craigenputtock,  an  outlook  from  the 
back  windows  into  mere  leafy  regions,  with 
here  and  there  a  red  high-peaked  old  roof 
looking  through  ;  and  see  nothing  of  London, 
except  by  day  the  summits  of  St.  Paul's  Ca- 
thedral and  Westminster  Abbey,  and  by  night 
the  gleam  of  the  great  Babylon  affronting 
the  peaceful  skies.  The  house  itself  is  prob- 
ably the  best  we  have  ever  lived  in,  a  right 
old,  strong,  roomy  brick-house,  built  near 
one  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago,  and  likely 
to  see  three  races  of  these  modern  fashiona- 
bles fall  before  it  comes  down."  It  all  sounds 
like  a  sunny  backwater,  but  in  truth  the  Car- 
lyles  had  taken  a  very  bold  plunge  into  the 
world-sea.    Their  reserve  of  money  could  have 


50  LETTERS   OF  CARLYLE 

been,  at  the  utmost,  no  more  than  three  hun- 
dred pounds ;  and  the  only  personal  sign  of 
the  times  for  them  was  the  fact  that  the 
writer  of  Sartor  —  now  coming  out  in  chap- 
ters—  was  thought  a  literary  maniac,  and 
that  Fraser  feared  the  ruin  of  his  magazine. 

The  household  gods,  however,  once  tem- 
pled in  Cheyne  Row,  were  never  carried  back 
across  the  Border  ;  nor,  in  fact,  were  they, 
in  the  half-century  of  life  that  remained  to 
Carlyle,  removed  to  any  other  spot.  Here  he 
caught  the  last  glimpse  of  Edward  Irving, 
the  friend  of  his  youth ;  here  he  welcomed 
Sterling,  "  a  new  young  figure,"  the  closest 
friend  of  his  middle  life ;  and  hither  came  to 
him  Froude  and  Ruskin,  his  latest  followers. 

At  first,  in  the  chosen  habitation,  it  was 
"  desperate  hope  "  and  "  bitter  thrift."  The 
readers  of  Fraser' s  Magazine  received  Sartor 
each  month  with  renewed  disgust.  "  Sartor," 
said  the  publisher,  "  excites  universal  disap- 
probation." While  this  passionate  history  of 
a  soul,  with  its  motive  so  strangely  drawn 
from  the  Holy  Bible  and  the  great,  unholy 
Dean,  was  waiting  to  touch  the  slow  spirit  of 
the  British  reading  public,  Carlyle  —  taking 
counsel  of  his  necessities,  his  ambition,  and 
his  inspirations  —  applied  himself  to  the  his- 


THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION  51 

tory  of  the  French  Revolution.  The  first 
volume  —  as  all  the  world  knows  —  was  lent 
in  manuscript  to  Mill,  who  lent  it  to  Mrs. 
Taylor,  his  "  veevid  "  and  "  iridescent "  Ege- 
ria,  whose  servant  kindled  fires  with  it.  Car- 
lyle  had  not  been  offered,  as  he  thought  he 
should  have  been,  the  editorship  of  the  new 
London  and  Westminster  Review ;  and  Mill, 
for  fear  of  his  father,  did  not  dare  even  to 
give  him  work  to  do  for  it.  Carlyle  himself 
had  refused  to  sell  his  independence  to  the 
Times.  There  was  thus  nothing  for  it  but  to 
rewrite  the  burnt  volume,  of  which  he  had 
kept  no  notes.  With  such  vigor  did  he  drive 
his  mind  and  his  pen  that  the  lost  chapters 
were  restored  by  September  22,  1835.  Mill 
had  told  him  of  the  loss  on  the  6th  of  the 
preceding  March.  Mrs.  Carlyle  wrote  to  her 
sister-in-law,  Mrs.  Aitken,  in  August :  "  I  do 
not  think  that  the  second  version  is,  on  the 
whole,  inferior  to  the  first ;  it  is  a  little  less 
vivacious,  perhaps,  but  better  thought  and 
put  together.  One  chapter  more  brings  him 
to  the  end  of  his  second  '  first  volume,'  and 
then  we  shall  sing  a  Te  Deum  and  get  drunk ; 
for  which,  by  the  way,  we  have  unusual  facil- 
ities at  present,  a  friend  (Mr.  Wilson)  having 
yesterday  sent  us  a  present  of  a  hamper  (some 


52  LETTERS  OF  CARLYLE 

six  or  seven  pounds'  worth)  of  the  finest  old 
Madeira  wine." 

Better  yet  than  wine  was  an  American  edi- 
tion of  Sartor,  godfathered  by  Emerson,  to 
the  number  of  five  hundred  copies.  This  was 
in  April,  1836,  and  another  edition  was  soon 
demanded.  Carlyle  amused  himself  by  quot- 
ing the  book,  in  his  essay  on  Mirabeau,  as  the 
work  of  a  New  England  writer. 

"  The  Doctor,"  mentioned  in  the  letter  to 
follow,  was  Carlyle's  brother  John,  who, 
thanks  to  Jeffrey,  had  been  for  some  years 
traveling  physician  to  Lady  Clare.  "  Anne 
Cook"  was  an  Annandale  servant  whom  Car- 
lyle brought  with  him  on  his  return  from 
Scotsbrig,  in  October,  1835.  Mrs.  Carlyle 
wrote  of  Anne  Cook,  "  She  amuses  me  every 
hour  of  the  day  with  her  perfect  incompre- 
hension of  everything  like  ceremony ; "  and 
several  of  her  homespun  sayings  became  pro- 
verbs in  Cheyne  Row.  "  Short,"  as  Carlyle 
uses  it  in  writing  to  his  sister,  has  apparently 
the  meaning  often  attached  to  it  in  New 
England,  —  "  short  of  temper."  The  whole 
sentence  bears  a  quizzing  reference  to  the 
year  before,  when,  on  the  4th  of  June,  Car- 
lyle had  written  :  "  Alick,  writing  to  me  yes- 
terday, mentions  among  other  things  that  you 


THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION  53 

are  shorted  (as  he  phrases  it)  because  I  have 
not  written.  .  .  .  Do  not  you  shorten,  my 
dear  little  Bairn,  but  lengthen,  and  know  that 
if  you  take  anything  amiss,  it  is  for  mere 
want  of  seeing  how  it  really  was  ;  that  of  all 
delusions  Satan  could  tempt  you  with,  that 
of  wanting  my  brotherly  affection,  now  and 
always  while  we  inhabit  the  Earth  together, 
is  the  most  delusive."  And  on  the  23d  of 
December  :  "  Do  not  shorten,  but  lengthen." 
The  "  second  volume "  is,  of  course,  the 
second  volume  of  The  French  Revolution. 
Of  both  first  and  second  Carlyle  had  written 
more  vehemently  to  Emerson,  a  few  weeks 
before :  "  I  got  the  fatal  First  Volume  fin- 
ished (in  the  miserablest  way,  after  great 
efforts)  in  October  last ;  my  head  was  all  in 
a  whirl ;  I  fled  to  Scotland  and  my  Mother 
for  a  month  of  rest.  Rest  is  nowhere  for  the 
Son  of  Adam  ;  all  looked  so  '  spectral '  to  me 
in  my  old-familiar  Birthland ;  Hades  itself 
could  not  have  seemed  stranger ;  Annandale 
also  was  part  of  the  kingdom  of  Time.  Since 
November  I  have  worked  again  as  I  could ; 
a  second  volume  got  wrapped  up  and  sealed 
out  of  my  sight  within  the  last  three  days. 
There  is  but  a  Third  now :  one  pull  more, 
and  then  !    It  seems  to  me,  I  will  fly  into 


54  LETTERS   OF  CARLYLE 

some  obscurest  cranny  of  the  world,  and  lie 
silent  there  for  a  twelvemonth.  The  mind  is 
weary,  the  body  is  very  sick ;  a  little  black 
speck  dances  to  and  fro  in  the  left  eye  (part 
of  the  retina  protesting  against  the  liver,  and 
striking  work).  I  cannot  help  it ;  it  must 
flutter  and  dance  there,  like  a  signal  of  dis- 
tress, unanswered  till  I  be  done.  My  familiar 
friends  tell  me  farther  that  the  Book  is  all 
wrong,  style,  cramp,  &c,  &c.  My  friends,  I 
answer,  you  are  very  right ;  but  this  also, 
Heaven  be  my  witness,  I  cannot  help.  —  In 
such  sort  do  I  live  here ;  all  this  I  had  to 
write  you,  if  I  wrote  at  all." 

The  contrast  between  such  a  passage  and 
the  whole  letter  to  his  sister  is  but  one  of  a 
multitude  of  instances  that  show  the  change 
in  Carlyle's  spirit  whenever  he  sat  down  to 
write  to  his  home  people. 

h.   carlyle  to  mrs.  hanning,  manchester. 

5  Cheyne  Row,  Chelsea,  London, 
16th  May,  1836. 

My  dear  Jenny,  —  Your  letter  has  been 
here  several  weeks,  a  very  welcome  messen- 
ger to  us,  and  I  did  not  think  at  the  time  I 
should  have  been  so  long  in  answering  it. 
But  I  have  been  drawn  hither  and  thither  by 


TO  MRS.   HANNING  55 

many  things,  of  late ;  besides,  I  judged  that 
Robert  and  you  were  happy  enough  of  your- 
selves for  the  present,  and  did  not  much  need 
any  foreign  aid  or  interruption.  I  need  not 
assure  you,  my  dear  little  Jenny,  of  the  inter- 
est I  took  in  the  great  enterprise  you  had 
embarked  on  ;  of  my  wishes  and  prayers 
that  it  might  prove  for  the  good  of  both. 
On  the  whole,  I  can  say  that,  to  my  judg- 
ment, it  looks  all  very  fair  and  well.  You 
know  I  have  all  along  regarded  Hanning"  as 
an  uncommonly  brisk,  glegg  little  fellow  since 
the  first  time  I  saw  him  (hardly  longer  than 
my  leg,  then),  and  prophesied  handsome 
things  of  him  in  the  world.  It  is  very  rare 
and  very  fortunate  when  two  parties  that  have 
affected  each  other  from  childhood  upwards 
get  together  in  indissoluble  partnership  at 
last.  May  it  prove  well  for  you,  as  I  think 
it  will.  You  must  take  the  good  and  the 
ill  in  faithful  mutual  help,  and,  whoever  or 
whatever  fail  you,  never  fail  one  another.  I 
have  no  doubt  Robert  will  shift  his  way  with 
all  dexterity  and  prudence  thro'  that  Cotton 
Babylon,  looking  sharp  about  him ;  knowing 
always,  too,  that  "  honesty  is  the  best  policy  " 
for  all  manner  of  men.  Do  thou  faithfully 
second  him,  my  bairn :  that  will  be  the  best 
of  lots  for  thee. 


56  LETTERS   OF  CABLYLE 

I  think  it  possible  that  now  and  then,  es- 
pecially when  you  are  left  alone,  the  look  of 
so  many  foreign  things  may  seem  dispiriting 
to  you,  and  the  huge  smoke  and  stour  of  that 
tumultuous  Manchester  (which  is  not  unlike 
the  uglier  parts  of  London)  produce  quite 
other  than  a  pleasant  impression.  But  take 
courage,  my  woman,  "  you  will  use,  you  will 
use,"  and  get  hefted  to  the  place,  as  all  crea- 
tures do.  There  are  many  good  people  in 
that  vast  weaving  -  shop,  many  good  things 
among  the  innumerable  bad.  Keep  snug 
within  your  own  doors,  keep  your  own  hearth 
snug ;  by  and  by  you  will  see  what  is  worth 
venturing  out  for.  Have  nothing  to  do  with 
the  foolish,  with  the  vain  and  ill-conducted. 
Attach  yourself  to  the  well-living  and  sensi- 
ble, to  every  one  from  whom  you  find  there 
is  real  benefit  derivable.  Thus,  by  degrees  a 
desirable  little  circle  will  form  itself  around 
you  ;  you  will  feel  that  Manchester  is  a  home, 
as  all  places  under  the  heavenly  sun  here  may 
become  for  one. 

In  a  newspaper  you  would  notice  that  the 
Doctor  was  come.  Till  this  day,  almost,  there 
was  little  else  to  be  said  about  him  than  that 
he  was  here  and  well.  He  has  been  specu- 
lating and  enquiring  as  to  what  he  should  do, 


TO  MRS.  HANNING  57 

and  now  has  determined  that  London  practice 
■will  not  do  for  the  present ;  that  he  should 
go  back  with  his  Lady  and  try  again  to  get 
practice  there.  He  is  gone  out  this  moment 
to  make  a  bargain  to  that  effect.  They  are 
to  set  out  for  Rome  again  on  the  first  of  Sep- 
tember ;  from  that  till  the  first  of  March  the 
Doctor  is  Lady  Clare's  doctor,  but  lives  in  his 
own  lodging  at  Rome  ;  after  that  he  is  free  to 
do  whatsoever  he  will :  to  stay  there,  if  they 
seem  inviting ;  to  return  home,  if  otherwise. 
I  believe,  myself,  that  he  has  decided  wisely. 
Till  September,  then,  we  have  him  amongst 
us.  He  talks  of  being  "  off  in  a  week  or 
two"  for  Scotland;  he  charged  me  to  say 
that  he  would  see  Manchester,  and  you,  either 
as  he  went  or  as  he  returned.  It  is  not  much 
out  of  the  way,  if  one  go  by  Carlisle  (or 
rather,  I  suppose,  it  is  directly  in  the  way), 
or  even  if  one  go  by  Liverpool,  but  I  rather 
think  he  will  make  for  Newcastle  this  time ; 
to  which  place  we  have  a  steamboat  direct. 
This  is  a  good  season  for  steamboats,  and  a 
bad  one  for  coaches  ;  for  with  latter,  indeed, 
what  good  season  is  there  ?  Nothing  in 
the  world  is  frightfuller  to  me  of  the  travel- 
ling rout,  than  a  coach  on  a  long  journey. 
It  is  easier  by  half  to  walk  it  with  peas  (at 


58  LETTERS  OF  CARLYLE 

least  boiled  peas)  in  your  shoes,  were  not  the 
time  so  much  shorter.  The  Doctor  looks  very 
well  and  sonsy  ;  he  seems  in  good  health  and 
well  to  live  ;  the  only  change  is  that  his  head 
is  getting  a  shade  of  grey  (quite  ahead  of 
mine,  though  I  am  six  years  older),  which 
does  not  mis-seem  him,  but  looks  very  well. 

We  had  a  long  speculation  about  going  to 
Scotland,  too,  but  I  doubt  we  must  renounce 
it.     This  summer  I  have  finished  my  second 
volume,  but  there  is  still  the  third  to  do,  and 
I  must  have  such  a  tussle  with  it !     All  sum- 
mer I  will   struggle    and   wrestle,   but  then 
about  the  time  of  the  gathering  in  of  sheaves 
I  too  shall  be  gathering  in.     Jane  has  gone 
out  to  "  buy  a  cotton  gown,"  for  the  weather 
is,  at  last,  beautiful  and  warm.     Before  going 
she  bade  me  send  you  both  her  best  wishes 
and  regards,  prayers  for  a  happy  pilgrimage 
together.     She   has   been    but    poorly   for  a 
good  while  (indeed,  all  the  world  is  sick  with 
these  east  winds  and  perpetual  changes),  but 
will  probably  be  better  now. 

Jack  and  I,  too,  have  both  had  our  colds. 
Then  Anne  Cook  fell  sick,  almost  danger- 
ously sick  for  the  time  ;  but  Jack  was  there 
and  gave  abundant  medical  help  ;  so  the  poor 
creature   is  on   her  feet  again,  and  a  great 


TO  MRS.   HANNING  59 

trouble   of  confusion  is  rolled  out  of  doors 
thereby. 

I  am  writing  to  our  Mother  this  day.  I 
have  heard  nothing  from  that  quarter  since 
the  letter  that  informed  me  the  poor  little 
child  was  dead.  Jean  wrote  part  of  it  her- 
self, and  seemed  in  a  very  composed  state, 
keeping  her  natural  sorrow  courageously 
down.  Our  Mother,  I  believe,  continues  there 
till  Jean  be  ill  again,  and  we  hope  happily 
well.  Whether  there  be  a  frank  procurable 
to-day  I  know  not,  but  I  will  try.  At  worst 
I  will  not  wait,  lest  you  grow  impatient  again 
and  get  short.  If  you  knew  what  a  fizz  I  am 
kept  in  with  one  thing  and  another  !  Write 
to  me  when  you  have  time  to  fill  a  sheet,  — 
news,  descriptions  of  how  you  get  on,  what 
you  suffer  and  enjoy,  what  you  do  :  these  are 
the  best.  I  will  answer.  Send  an  old  news- 
paper from  time  to  time,  with  two  strokes  on 
it,  if  you  are  well.  Promise,  however,  to 
write  instantly  if  you  are  ill.  Then  shall  we 
know  to  keep  ourselves  in  peace. 

Farewell,  dear  little  Sister.  Give  our  love 
to  our  new  Brother.  Tell  him  to  walk  wisely 
and  be  a  credit  to  your  choice.  God  be  with 
you  both. 

T.  Carlyle. 


60  LETTERS   OF  CABLYLE 

In  Carlyle's  Journal  for  June  1  occur  these 
words :  — 

"  An  eternity  of  life  were  not  endurable  to 
any  mortal.  To  me  the  thought  of  it  were 
madness  even  for  one  day.  Oh  !  I  am  far 
astray,  wandering,  lost,  '  dyeing  the  thirsty 
desert  with  my  blood  in  every  footprint.' 
Perhaps  God  and  His  providence  will  be  bet- 
ter to  me  than  I  hope.  Peace,  peace  !  words 
are  idler  than  idle. 

"  I  have  seen  Wordsworth  again.  I  have 
seen  Landor,  Americans,  Frenchman-Cavaig- 
nac  the  Republican.  Be  no  word  written  of 
them.  Bubble  bubble,  toil  and  trouble.  I 
find  emptiness  and  chagrin,  look  for  nothing 
else,  and  on  the  whole  can  reverence  no  ex- 
isting man,  and  shall  do  well  to  pity  all, 
myself  first,  —  or  rather,  last.  To  work, 
therefore.  That  will  still  me  a  little,  if  aught 
will." 

Presently  the  household  purse  became  so 
shrunken  that  the  Revolution  had  to  be 
dropped  for  two  weeks,  while  Carlyle  wrote 
the  article  on  Mirabeau.  This  —  printed 
first  in  Mill's  Review,  and  afterward  in  the 
Miscellanies  —  brought  in  about  fifty  pounds. 
Mrs.  Carlyle,  meanwhile,  became  so  ill  that 
it  was  arranged  for  her  to  go  home  to  her 


TO  MRS.  BANNING  61 

mother.  The  voyage  part  of  the  plan,  —  by 
steamer  from  Liverpool  to  Annan,  —  which 
had  been  merely  for  economy,  was  not  carried 
out.  Mrs.  Carlyle's  Liverpool  uncle,  John 
Welsh,  paid  her  fare  in  the  coach  to  Dum- 
fries, and  gave  her  a  handsome  shawl  as  a 
present  for  her  birthday,  the  14th  of  July. 

in.     CARLYLE    TO    MRS.    HANNING,    MANCHESTER. 

Chelsea,  8th  July,  Friday,  1836. 

Dear  Jenny,  —  I  write  you  a  few  words 
in  the  greatest  haste,  with  a  worthy  Mr.  Gib- 
son even  talking  to  me  all  the  while ;  but  I 
must  write,  for  there  is  not  a  post  to  lose, 
and  I  think  the  news  will  not  be  unwelcome 
to  you. 

Jane  is  getting  ill  again  in  this  fiercely  hot 
weather,  and  I  have  persuaded  her  to  go  home 
for  a  month  to  her  mother.  She  is  going 
by  Manchester,  and  you.  Off  some  time  to- 
morrow (Saturday),  and  will  be  in  your  town, 
we  calculate,  on  Sunday,  and  hopes  to  sleep 
in  your  house  that  night.  This  is  the  news. 
Now  we  know  not  as  yet  by  what  coach  she 
will  come,  or  at  what  hour  and  what  Inn  she 
will  arrive,  but  this  Mr.  Gibson,  who  has  un- 
dertaken to  go  out  and  search  over  the  city 
for  the  suitablest  vehicle,  and  to  engage  a 


62  LETTERS  OF  CARLYLE 

seat  in  that  for  her,  will  take  this  letter  in  his 
pocket.  He,  having  engaged  the  seat,  "will 
mark  the  name  of  it  on  the  outside  (where 
see).  I  judge  farther  that  this  letter  will 
reach  you  on  Saturday  evening  or  next  morn- 
ing soon,  so  that  there  will  be  time.  The 
rest  you  will  know  how  to  do  without  telling. 
I  think  Robert,  if  he  be  not  altered  from  what 
he  was,  will  succeed  in  meeting  the  tired  way- 
farer as  she  steps  out,  which  will  be  a  great 
comfort  to  her.  She  calculates  on  being  at 
full  liberty  to  sit  silent  with  you,  or  to  sit 
talking,  to  lie  down  on  the  bed,  to  do  what- 
soever she  likes  best  to  do,  and  to  be  in  all 
senses  at  home  as  in  her  own  home.  There 
are  few  houses  in  England  that  could  do  as 
much  for  her.  I  think  she  would  like  best 
to  be  —  "  well  let  alone." 

Next  day,  or  when  once  right  rested,  Rob- 
ert will  conduct  her  to  -the  Liverpool  Railway, 
and  give  her  his  "  Luck  by  the  road ; ''  after 
which  she  has  but  a  little  whirl,  a  little  sail, 
—  by  the  force  of  steam  both  ways,  —  and  is 
at  Templand  or  Annan.  She  will  tell  you  all 
our  news  and  get  all  yours,  so  I  need  not  add 
another  word.  Did  you  get  a  frank  that  I 
sent  you  some  months  ago  ?  Did  you  ever 
send  even  a  newspaper  since  ?     Jane  has  half 


MRS.   CARLYLE  TO  MRS.   HANNING  63 

a  thought  that  she  may  find  the  Doctor  and 
our  mother  with  you.  All  good  wishes  to 
your  Goodman. 

Yours,  my  dear  Jenny,  affectionately, 

T.  Carlyle. 


IV.    TO   MRS.    HANNING,   MANCHESTER,   FROM   HER 
MOTHER,    IN    SCOTSBRIG. 

November  3,  1836. 

Dear  Jenny,  —  I  have  long  had  a  mind 
to  write  you,  but  have  put  off,  as  you  see,  till 
now,  and  though  I  have  nothing  worth  while 
to  say  but  to  tell  you  of  my  welfare,  which  I 
know  you  are  still  glad  to  hear.  I  have  been 
very  well  since  you  left  me,  though  I  have 
taken  no  medicine  of  any  kind.  You  will 
be  ready  to  say,  "  What  have  you  been  doing 
all  this  time  ?  ':  I  have  been  very  throng  in 
my  own  way.  I  have  spun  a  little  web  of 
droget  and  done  many  odd  things. 

We  have  got  another  fine  little  boy  here 
last  Monday  morning.     Isabella  is  doing  well. 

They  have  had  a  long  and  sore  fight  with 
the  harvest.  It  is  nearly  finished.  It  is  a 
good  crop,  and  upon  the  whole  no  great  dam- 
age is  done.  We  had  a  bitter  snow  and  frost 
last  week ;  it  is  gone  again,  however,  but  the 
weather  is  still  coarse,  with  good  days  among. 


64  LETTERS  OF  CARLTLE 

I  had  a  long  letter  from  London  about  the 
time  I  got  yours  with  the  socks,  which  are 
very  comfortable  indeed.  I  have  them  on  at 
this  moment,  and  my  feet  are  as  warm  as 
pie.  Many  thanks  to  the  giver.  The  iron  is 
likewise  an  excellent  one,  a  perfect  conceit. 
Many,  many  thanks. 

I  was  sorry  to  hear  of  your  lassie  turning 
out  so  badly.  She  had  too  much  confidence. 
One  should  trust  them  no  farther  than  they 
see.  Old  James  of  the  hill  is  just  come  up 
for  some  beasts  of  Alick's.  He  talks  of  tak- 
ing them  over  the  water  to  sell  them  soon. 
So  you  will  perhaps  have  a  visit  of  him  soon. 

You  must  not  be  long  in  writing  to  me,  my 
good  bairn,  and  tell  me  how  you  are  coming 
on.  Are  you  anything  healthy  now?  I 
intend  visiting  you,  if  I  be  well.  Afterward 
it  will  be  the  next  year  before  I  think  of 
coming.  They  were  all  well  at  London  when 
I  got  their  letter.  John  was  at  Geneva.  I 
long  to  hear  from  him,  and  to  know  where 
he  is  now.  I  am  expecting  word  daily.  The 
rest  are  all  well,  for  aught  I  know  ;  but  Jamie 
is  at  Annan  to-day,  and  he  will  hear  of  them 
all,  as  Alick  was  at  Dumfries  yesterday. 

Your  folk  are  all  well.  I  saw  William  Han- 
ning  last  week  at  the  market  with  John.     He 


MRS.   CARLYLE    TO  MRS.  HANNING         65 

tolcl  me  he  had  sent  away  a  letter  that  day,  I 
think,  to  you.  I  forgot  to  tell  you  how  Tom 
is  getting  on  with  his  book.  He  intends 
going  to  press  about  New  Year's  Day.  It 
will  be  a  fine  time  for  him.  May  we  all  go 
on  in  the  strength  of  God,  the  Lord,  making 
mention  of  His  righteousness,  even  of  His 
only,  trusting  in  Him  for  all  we  need  for 
time  and  for  eternity.  I  had  done,  but  have 
just  got  a  letter  from  the  good  Doctor,  wrote 
about  a  fortnight  since.  If  he  is  well,  he  is 
near  Rome  by  this  time. 

Write,  for  I  can  write  none.  Send  me  a 
long  letter.     No  more. 

From  your  own  mother, 

M.  A.  Carlyle. 

They  are  all  well  at  Annan  and  Dumfries. 

Friday.  I  believe  Alick  goes  off  for  Liv- 
erpool to-day.  Send  me  word  when  to  come 
over,  and  write  soon. 

By  the  end  of  October,  1836,  Carlyle  was 
already  wondering  what  he  should  do  after 
finishing  The  French  Revolution,  and  wrote 
to  his  brother  John  :  "  Here,  with  only  liter- 
ature for  shelter,  there  is,  I  think,  no  contin- 
uance. Better  to  take  a  stick  in  your  hand, 
and  roam  the  earth  Teuf  elsdrockhish ;  you  will 


66  LETTERS   OF  CAELYLE 

get  at  least  a  stomach  to  eat  bread,  —  even 
that  denied  me  here."  On  the  evening  of  the 
12th  of  January,  1837,  the  book  was  fin- 
ished which  raised  Carlyle  from  obscurity  — 
so  far  as  the  public  was  concerned  —  to 
an  undisputed  place  among  great  writers. 
Though  popularity  did  not  come  for  many  a 
year,  fame  attended  him  from  this  point  on- 
ward. The  French  Revolution  was  not  pub- 
lished, however,  until  June  ;  and  in  the  interim 
Carlyle's  circumstances  looked  little  more  pro- 
mising than  before.  A  week  after  he  had 
finished  the  last  sentence,  and  handed  the 
manuscript  to  his  wife  with  a  since  famous 
and  often-quoted  speech,  he  found  time  and 
spirits  to  send  prescriptions  of  cheerfulness  to 
Mrs.  Hanning.  The  "'  two  strokes  "  of  a  pen 
on  a  newspaper  signified  to  the  Carlyle  who 
received  the  paper  that  all  was  well  with  the 
Carlyle  who  sent  it. 

v.   carlvle  to  mrs.  haststng,  manchester. 

5  Cheyne  Row,  Chelsea,  London, 
19th  Jan'y,  1837. 

My  dear  Jexxy,  —  It  is  a  long  time  since 
I  heard  directly  of  you  at  any  length,  or  since 
you  heard  of  me.  To-day,  tho'  I  have  not  the 
best  disposition  or  leisure,  I  will  send  you  a 


TO  MRS.  HANNING  67 

line  :  there  are  no  franks  going,  but  the  post 
is  always  going,  and  you  will  think  a  shilling 
might  be  worse  spent. 

We  are  very  sorry,  and  not  without  our 
anxieties,  at  the  short  notice  Robert  sent  us 
on  the  Newspaper ;  however,  the  next  week 
brought  confirmation  on  the  favourable  side, 
and  I  persuade  myself  to  hope  that  all  is  get- 
ting round  again  to  the  right  state.  Your 
health  is  evidently  not  strong  ;  but  you  are 
growing  in  years,  and  have  naturally  a  sound 
constitution  ;  you  must  learn  to  take  care  and 
precautions,  especially  in  the  life  you  are  now 
entered  upon,  in  that  huge  den  of  reek  and 
Cotton-fuz,  where  one  cannot  go  on  as  in  the 
free  atmosphere  of  the  Country.  Exercise, 
especially  exercise  out  of  doors  when  it  is 
convenient,  is  the  best  of  all  appliances.  Do 
not  sit  motionless  within  doors,  if  there  is  a 
sun  shining  without,  and  you  are  able  to  stir. 
Particularly  endeavour  to  keep  a  good  heart, 
and  avoid  all  moping  and  musing,  whatever 
takes  away  your  cheerfulness.  Sunshine  in 
the  inside  of  one  is  even  more  important  than 
sunshine  without. 

I  do  not  understand  your  way  of  life  so 
well  as  to  know  whether  the  Goodman  is  gen- 
erally at  your  hand ;  in  that  case,  you  have 


68  LETTERS  OF  CARLYLE 

both  a  duty  to  do,  and  society  in  the  doing 
of  it  independently  of  others ;  but,  at  all 
events,  frank  communication  with  one's  fel- 
low-creatures is  a  pleasure  and  a  medicine 
which  no  life  should  be  without.  Be  not  sol- 
itary, be  not  idle !  That  is  a  precept  of  old 
standing.  Doing  one's  duties  (and  all  crea- 
tures have  their  solemn  duties  to  do),  living 
soberly,  meekly,  "  walking  humbly  before 
God,"  one  has  cause  to  hope  that  it  will  be 
well  with  him,  that  he  shall  see  good  in  the 
world.  Write  me  a  letter,  full  of  all  your 
concerns  and  considerations,  when  you  can 
muster  disposition.  I  shall  always  be  right 
glad  of  such  a  message.  In  fine,  I  hope  the 
spring  weather  will  come  and  set  us  all  up  a 
little. 

Before  going  farther,  let  me  mention  here 
that  a  Newspaper  came  to  me  last  Monday, 
charged  nineteen  shillings  and  some  pence  ! 
I,  of  course,  refused  it.  I  got  a  sight  of  it, 
but  could  not  ascertain  accurately  from  whom 
it  was.  Either  A  lick  or  your  Robert,  I 
thought,  but  the  Post  people  had  stamped 
it,  and  sealed  it,  and  smeared  it  all  over,  and 
marked  it  "  Written  on,"  so  that  I  could 
make  little  of  it.  The  cover,  I  noticed,  was 
in  writing  paper  scored  with  blue  lines :    it 


TO  MRS.   HANNING  69 

strikes  me  it  may  have  been  the  Manchester 
paper,  after  all,  and  no  writing  in  it  but  the 
copper-plate  on  a  piece  of  one  of  Robert's 
account  papers.  At  all  events,  when  any 
more  Newspapers  come,  the  law  is  that  the 
cover  be  of  vacant  blank  paper ;  likewise  we 
will  cease  writing  or  marking  except  two 
strokes  on  the  cover,  lest  we  get  into  trouble 
by  it.  I  refused  this  nineteen  shillings  fel- 
low ;  and  they  will  be  able  to  make  no  more 
of  it,  but  it  will  make  them  more  watchful  in 
future.  I  mean  to  write  into  Annandale  to 
the  like  effect. 

The  Doctor  sends  me  word  out  of  Rome 
that  he  wants  a  Dumfries  Herald  forwarded 
to  him  thither.  I  have  not  yet  arranged  that ; 
but  I  am  thinking  of  having  this  Herald  (if 
the  days  answer)  sent  by  Manchester,  thro' 
your  hands.  I  think  it  would  reach  you  on 
Saturday.  You  could  look  at  it,  and  send  it 
on,  the  same  day,  whereby  no  time  at  all 
would  be  lost.  The  two  strokes  would  always 
be  a  satisfaction.  We  shall  see  how  it  an- 
swers. If  any  such  Herald,  then,  come  your 
way,  you  know  what  to  do  with  it. 

It  is  several  weeks  since  I  had  any  direct 
tidings  out  of  Scotland,  except  what  James 
Aitken's  address  of  the  Courier  gives  me :  it 


70  LETTERS  OF  CABLYLE 

had  the  sign  of  well-being  on  it  last  week.  I 
am  to  write  thither  shortly,  having  a  letter 
of  the  Doctor's  lying  here,  as  I  have  hinted. 
The  Doctor  says  he  had  written  a  few  days 
before  to  our  Mother,  which  has  made  me  less 
anxious  about  speed  with  this  to  her.  He  is 
well  and  doing  tolerably  well,  —  getting  what 
Practice  in  Rome  a  beginner  can  expect. 
The  Cholera  was  about  gone  from  Naples, 
and  the  panic  of  it  from  Rome,  so  that  more 
English  were  coming  in,  and  he  hoped  to  do 
still  better.  You  can  send  this  news  into  the 
Scotch  side  when  you  have  opportunity. 

All  people  here  have  got  a  thing  they  call 
Influenza,  a  dirty,  feverish  kind  of  cold  ;  very 
miserable,  and  so  general  as  was  hardly  ever 
seen.  Printing-offices,  Manufactories,  Tailor- 
shops,  and  such  like  are  struck  silent,  every 
second  man  lying  sniftering  in  his  respective 
place  of  abode.  The  same  seems  to  be  the 
rule  in  the  North,  too.  I  suppose  the  miser- 
able temperate  of  climate  may  be  the  cause. 
Worse  weather  never  fell  from  the  Lift,  to 
my  judgment,  than  we  have  here.  Reek, 
mist,  cold,  wet ;  the  day  before  yesterday 
there  was  one  of  our  completest  London  fogs, 
—  a  thing  of  which  I  suppose  you  even  at 
Manchester  can  form  no  kind  of  notion.     For 


TO  MRS.  HANNING  71 

we  are  exactly  ten  times  as  big  as  you  are, 
and  parts  of  us  are  hardly  less  reeky  and 
dirty ;  farther,  we  He  flat,  on  the  edge  of  a 
broad  river :  and  now  suppose  there  were  a 
mist,  black  enough,  and  such  that  no  smoke 
or  emanation  could  rise  from  us,  but  fell  again 
the  instant  it  had  got  out  of  the  chimney- 
head  !  People  have  to  light  candles  at  noon, 
coaches  have  torch-bearers  running  at  the 
horses'  heads.  It  is  like  a  sea  of  ink.  I 
wonder  the  people  do  not  all  drop  down  dead 
in  it,  —  since  they  are  not  fishes,  of  a  partic- 
ular sort.  It  is  cause  enough  for  Influenza. 
Poor  Jane,  who  misses  nothing,  has  caught 
fast  hold  of  this  Sunday  last,  and  has  really 
been  miserably  ill.  She  gets  better  these  last 
two  days,  but  is  weak  as  water  ;  indeed,  the 
headache  at  one  time  was  quite  wretched. 
She  has  been,  on  the  whole,  stronger  since 
you  saw  her,  but  is  not  at  all  strong.  As  for 
myself,  I  have  felt  these  wretched  fogs  pene- 
trating into  me,  with  a  clear  design  to  pro- 
duce cough ;  but  I  have  set  my  face  against 
it  and  said  No.  This  really  does  a  great 
deal,  and  has  served  me  hitherto.  I  hope 
to  escape  the  Influenza  ;  they  say  it  is  abat- 
ing. 

The  Book  is  done,  about  a  week  ago  :  this 


72  LETTERS  OF  CAELYLE 

is  my  best  news.  I  have  got  the  first  printed 
sheet,  since  I  sat  down  to  write  this.  We 
shall  go  on  swiftly,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  and 
have  it  finished  and  forth  into  the  world,  say, 
before  the  month  of  March  end.  I  care  little 
what  becomes  of  it  then ;  it  has  been  a  sore 
Book  to  me.  There  are  two  things  I  was 
printing  lately,  which  I  would  send  to  you, 
but  there  is  no  conveyance.  I  fear  you  would 
do  little  good  with  them,  at  any  rate;  not 
five  shillings'  worth  of  good,  which  they 
would  cost  you.  Besides,  if  Robert  or  you 
want  to  see  them,  you  can  let  him  go  to  a 
Circulating  Library  and  ask  for  the  last 
Number  of  the  London  and  Westminster 
Review.  In  it  he  will  find  a  thing  called 
Memoirs  of  Mirabeau :  that  thing  is  mine. 
The  other  thing  is  in  Fraser's  Magazine,  — 
half  of  it;  the  other  half  will  be  in  the 
February  Number :  it  is  called  Diamond 
Necklace. 

This  latter  was  written  at  Craigenputtock 
a  good  while  ago.  I  see  your  Manchester 
Editor  feels  himself  aggrieved  by  it,  worthy 
man,  but  hints  that  there  may  be  some  mis- 
take on  his  part ;  which  I  do  very  seriously 
assure  him  is  my  opinion,  too.  Other  Edi- 
tors, it  would  seem,  sing  to  the  same  tune. 


TO  MRS.  HANNING  73 

After  this  Book  is  printed,  it  remains  un- 
certain what  I  shall  do  next.  One  thing  I 
am  firmly  enough  resolved  on  :  not  to  spend 
the  summer  here.  I  will  have  myself  rested, 
and  see  the  fields  green  and  the  sky  blue  yet 
one  year,  follow  what  may.  Many  things 
call  me  towards  Scotland  ;  but  nothing  can 
yet  be  determined  upon.  If  I  go  Northward, 
Manchester  is  a  likely  enough  step  for  me ; 
nay,  perhaps  the  Doctor  may  be  home  from 
Rome,  and  we  shall  both  be  there  !  Nothing 
is  yet  fixed  ;  we  will  hope  all  this. 

And  now,  my  dear  Sister,  I  must  bid  thee 
good  day.  Salute  Robert  from  me  with  all 
manner  of  good  wishes.  I  have  known  him 
as  a  "  fell  fellow  "  since  he  was  hardly  longer 
than  my  leg.  Tell  him  to  be  diligent  in 
business,  and  also  (for  that  is  another  indis- 
pensable thing)  fervent  in  spirit,  struggling 
to  serve  God.  Make  thou  a  good  wife  to 
him,  helping  him  in  all  right  things  by  coun- 
sel and  act.  Good  be  with  you  both  !  Jane 
sends  you  all  good  wishes  from  her  sick  bed, 
and  "  was  grieved  to  hear  of  what  had  hap- 
pened you."  She  will  be  better  in  a  day  or 
two. 

Your  affectionate  Brother, 

T.  Carlyle. 


74  LETTERS  OF  CARLYLE 

The  next  letter,  "a  holy  and  a  cheerful 
note  "  from  Margaret  Carry le  to  her  daughter, 
falls  of  necessity  between  1836  and  1840,  the 
year  of  Mrs.  Hanning's  going  to  Manchester 
and  that  of  her  leaving  it.  The  statement 
that  "  Tom  .  .  .  has  to  begin  to  lecture  the 
first  of  May,  and  has  no  time  to  prepare," 
points  to  1837 ;  for  all  the  following  courses 
Carlyle  had  time  to  make  ready.  This  first 
series,  with  German  Literature  for  subject, 
was  suddenly  arranged  by  a  number  of  Car- 
lyle's  friends,  —  Miss  Martineau  zealous  among 
them, — in  the  fear  that,  unless  things  bright- 
ened for  him,  he  would  be  forced  to  leave 
London,  "  and  perhaps  England."  The  lec- 
tures were  a  great  success;  Carlyle  sjwke, 
instead  of  reading,  to  "  an  audience  of  Mar- 
chionesses, Ambassadors,  ah  me  !  and  what 
not ; "  and  the  resulting  sum  of  one  hun- 
dred and  thirty-five  pounds,  with  the  promise 
of  another  course  for  the  next  season,  set- 
tled the  household  gods  more  firmly  on  their 
pedestals.  In  the  words  of  Mrs.  Carlyle, 
"  Nothing  that  he  has  ever  tried  seems  to 
me  to  have  carried  such  conviction  to  the 
public  heart  that  he  is  a  real  man  of  gen- 
ius, and  worth  being  kept  alive  at  a  moderate 
rate." 


MRS.  CARLYLE  TO  MRS.  HANNING  75 


VI.    TO    MRS.    HANNING,    MANCHESTER,    FROM    HER 

MOTHER. 

Scotsbrig,  April  9th  [1837]. 

Dear  Jenny,  —  I  have  nothing  worth  writ- 
ing at  this  time.  We  are  all  in  our  usual 
health.  I  have  had  little  Grace  with  me 
these  three  weeks.  Now  I  have  to  go  to 
Dumfries  this  week  to  put  some  money  in  the 
bank  for  John,  your  brother.  It  is  at  Dum- 
fries by  this  time.  I  told  Mary  to  bid  you 
write  me  soon  and  tell  me  how  you  are  com- 
ing on.  If  you  have  not  written,  write  to 
Dumfries.  Do  you  know  that  Jane  has  been 
very  badly  ?  She  is  rather  better.  Thank 
God,  her  mother  is  there  with  them.  She 
took  a  coach  and  went  straight  for  London. 
Tom  is  in  a  great  hubble  at  this  time :  you 
will  know  he  has  to  begin  to  lecture  the  first 
of  May,  and  has  no  time  to  prepare.  May 
God  be  with  him  and  all  of  us,  and  as  our 
day  is  so  may  our  strength  be,  and  may  He 
prepare  us  for  whatever  He  see  meet  to  come 
in  our  way,  that  it  may  be  for  His  glory  and 
our  good  in  the  end.  Our  time  is  short  at 
longest :  may  we  have  grace  given  us  to  im- 
prove it. 

I  had  no  thought  of  writing  at  this  time, 


76  LETTERS  OF  CABLYLE 

but  Fanny  Camthers  called  and  told  me  she 
was  ffoingf  to  Manchester.  She  is  much  al- 
tered :  I  did  not  know  her.  Now,  Jenny,  I 
intend  to  see  you  this  summer ;  I  cannot  say 
when,  but  if  health  permit  I  will  come.  If  I 
am  long  in  coming,  I  can  stay  the  longer :  it 
depends  on  Tom  when  he  comes  home.  It 
will  be  June  at  the  soonest  before  he  can  get 
away.  I  had  a  letter  from  him  shortly  which 
troubled  me  not  a  little,  telling  of  Jane's  ill- 
ness. She  is  rather  better,  but  still  confined 
to  her  bed  at  last  accounts,  which  was  about 
a  week  ago.  I  had  a  letter  of  John  :  he  was 
well  then.  Write  soon  and  tell  me  how  you 
keep  your  health,  now  this  cold  weather  is 
come,  and  how  is  Robert.  Thank  him  in  my 
name  for  nursing  you  so  well  when  you  were 
poorly.  I  hope  you  are  stout  now.  Take 
good  care  of  yourself  and  be  well  when  I 
come  over.  I  long  to  see  you  both.  I  will 
add  no  more,  but  am  still 

Your  loving  mother, 

Margaret  A.  Carlyle. 

God  be  with  us  all,  and  bless  us,  and  do 
us  good. 

Clap  your  thumbs  on  mistakes. 

On  the  7th  of  June  Carlyle  wrote  to  Ster- 


TO  MRS.  HANNING  77 

ling,  "I  cannot  say  a  word  to  you  of  the 
book  or  of  the  lectures,  except  that  by  the 
unspeakable  blessing  of  Heaven  they  are  fin- 
ished." "  A  few  days  after  the  date  of  this 
letter,"  says  Froude,  "  Carry le  fled  to  Scot- 
land, fairly  broken  down."  That  he  lingered 
a  fortnight  longer  in  Chelsea,  however,  the 
following  letter  is  witness. 

vii.  carlyle  to  mrs.  hanning,  manchester. 

5  Cheyne  Row,  Chelsea,  London. 
20th  June,  1837. 

My  dear  Jenny,  —  I  write  to-day  with 
one  of  the  worst  of  pens  and  in  the  extreme 
hurry  of  packing,  to  say  that  I  am  just  com- 
ing off  for  Annandale,  and  shall  take  Lan- 
cashire in  my  way.  I  think  of  taking  the 
steamboat  to-morrow  morning  for  Hull.  Af- 
ter that,  I  believe  we  go  by  Leeds  and  then 
to  Manchester,  where  I  hope  to  find  you  and 
your  Goodman  well.  The  times  and  the  dis- 
tances after  getting  to  Hull,  as  we  hope  on 
Thursday,  are  unknown  to  me.  Most  prob- 
ably, I  should  think,  it  will  be  on  Saturday 
that  I  get  to  you,  but  it  may  be  the  day  after, 
it  may  be  the  day  before,  for  all  is  yet  un- 
certain ;  nay,  there  is  a  certain  Dr.  Hunter 
in  Leeds,  a  cousin   of  Jane's,  with  whom   I 


78  LETTEBS  OF  CABLYLE 

may  (though  that  is  not  very  likely)  loiter  an 
hour  or  two.  We  shall  see.  We  shall  hope 
to  meet  all  in  order  some  how  or  other  at 
last. 

Jane  is  to  stay  here  till  I  come  hack,  her 
mother  keeping  her  company.  Jane,  as  you 
perhaps  know,  has  been  very  ill.  She  has 
now  grown  much  stronger  again,  but  still  not 
strong  enough.  Her  mother  hastily  joined 
us  when  things  were  at  the  worst  in  the 
month  of  April,  and  will  not  quit  us  till  we 
get  together  again. 

I  am  not  very  eminently  well  at  present, 
yet  neither  is  anything  special  gone  wrong 
with  me.  I  want  rest,  and  mean  to  have  that 
now  at  Scotsbrig.  I  have  got  my  book  com- 
pletely done.  I  gave  a  course  of  lectures 
too,  &c,  &c,  and  have  "  got  all  by  "  for  the 
present.  I  seem  to  myself  to  require  a  little 
while  of  repose  as  the  one  thing  needful. 

A  newspaper  came  the  other  day  from  the 
Doctor,  indicating  that  he  was  well.  He  is 
not  in  Rome  through  the  Summer,  but  in  a 
place  called  Albano,  not  far  from  Rome.  He 
seemed  to  consider  it  as  not  unlikely  that  he 
might  be  here  in  September  again.  He  had 
succeeded  pretty  well  at  Rome  as  a  Practi- 
tioner. 


TO  MRS.  HANNING  79 

Last  time  I  heard  from  Annandale  our 
Mother  and  all  the  rest  were  well.  It  is  not 
very  long  since,  —  some  three  weeks  or  little 
more.  They  also  reported  well  of  you  at 
Manchester. 

Give  my  compliments  to  Robert.  Say  I 
mean  to  ask  his  assistance  in  buying  a  quan- 
tity of  breeches,  as  I  pass  through  that  huge 
Weaving-shop  of  the  World.  I  ought  to  get 
them  there  better  than  elsewhere. 

Let  us  hope,  therefore,  that  on  Saturday, 
or  some  time  near  before  or  near  after  that 
day,  I  shall  succeed  in  finding  you  at  Bank 
Street  and  finding  all  right. 

I  have  not  a  moment's  time  more.  Indeed, 
what  more  is  there  to  be  said  at  present  with 
such  a  pen  ? 

I  remain  always,  my  dear  sister, 
Your  affectionate 

T.  Carlyle. 

James  Carlyle  was  now  with  his  mother, 
farming  Scotsbrig  for  her.  Alick  did  after- 
ward go  to  America,  and  died  there.  "John 
of  Cockermouth"  was  a  half-brother.  "James 
Austin  and  Mary ':  are  Carlyle's  brother-in- 
law  and  sister. 


80  LETTEBS  OF  CABLYLE 

VIII.    CARLTLE   TO   MRS.    HANNING,    MANCHESTER. 

Scotsbrig,  18th  July,  1837. 

My  dear  Jenny,  —  According  to  promise, 
I  set  about  writing  you  a  word  of  Scotch 
news,  now  that  I  am  fairly  settled  here  and 
know  how  things  are.  The  railway  train 
whirled  me  away  from  you  rapidly  that  even- 
ing. Next  evening,  about  the  same  hour,  we 
were  getting  out  of  Liverpool  harbour,  and 
on  the  following  morning,  between  seven  and 
eight  o'clock,  I  had  got  my  eye  upon  Alick 
waving  to  me  from  the  end  of  the  Jetty  at 
Annan.  It  is  almost  three  weeks  now  that 
I  have  been  here  and  found  all  well,  but  it 
was  only  the  day  before  yesterday  that  we 
got  our  first  visit  to  Dumfries  made  out,  and 
could  rightly  report  about  matters  there.  I 
fancied  a  newspaper  with  two  strokes  would 
communicate  the  substance  of  what  was  to  be 
said  in  the  interim. 

There  has  been  a  good  deal  of  discussion 
about  Alick  and  his  going  to  America.  He 
himself  seemed  of  mind  to  go,  but  not 
very  strongly  or  hopefully  set  on  it.  Our 
Mother,  again,  was  resolute  against  it,  and 
made  such  a  lamenting  as  was  sufficient  to 
dishearten  one   more   inclined   than   he.     So 


TO  MRS.  HANNING  81 

now  I  think  it  seems  fixed  so  far  as  that  he 
will  not  go.  What  he  is  to  do  here  one  does 
not  so  well  see,  but  it  will  evidently  be  a 
great  point  gained  for  him  that  he  give  up 
thinking  about  departure,  and  direct  his  whole 
industry  to  ascertaining  how  he  can  manage 
here  where  he  is.  Men  of  far  less  wit  than  he 
do  contrive  to  manage,  when  once  they  have 
set  their  heart  on  it.  Jamie  is  quite  ready  to 
go  to  Puttock  and  give  up  Scotsbrig  to  him, 
but  I  still  rather  think  there  will  nothing 
come  of  that ;  nay,  some  think  Alick  himself 
does  not  at  bottom  wish  that,  but  is  satisfied 
with  finding  Jamie  so  far  ready  to  accommo- 
date him  and  keep  him  at  home.  He  seems 
very  tranquil,  cheerfuller  than  he  was  and 
altogether  steady  ;  likelier  to  have  a  little  fair 
luck  than  he  was  a  while  ago.  He  must  per- 
sist where  he  is.  There  is  nothing  that  can 
prosper  without  perseverance.  Perseverance 
will  make  many  a  thing  turn  out  well  that 
looked  ill  enough  once.  John  of  Cockermouth 
is  gone  off  to  America  about  a  fortnight  ago 
with  all  his  family.  I  got  him  a  letter  from 
Burnswark  to  a  brother  of  his  at  New  York. 
I  doubt  not  he  will  do  well.  Clow  of  Land 
has  his  property  advertised  for  sale ;  means 
to  be  off  about  the  end  of  August,  which  also 


82  LETTERS  OF  CARLYLE 

I  reckon  prudent.  With  two  or  three  thou- 
sand pounds  in  his  pocket  and  four  or  five 
strong  sons  at  his  back,  a  man  may  make  a 
figure  in  America.  James  Austin  and  Mary 
were  at  one  time  talking  of  America,  but  they 
also  have  given  it  up. 

We  had  a  letter  from  the  Doctor  shortly 
after  my  arrival  here.  He  is  well,  living  at 
Albano,  a  summer  residence  some  twenty 
miles  from  Rome.  He  speaks  of  it  being  pos- 
sible, or  probable,  that  he  may  get  back  to 
England  in  September,  but  it  is  not  certain. 
He  will  be  pretty  sure  to  come  by  Manchester 
and  you  if  he  come  Northward.  The  rest,  as 
I  have  already  hinted,  are  all  well  and  follow- 
ing their  usual  course.  Jamie  and  his  wife 
and  two  sons  go  along  very  briskly.  His 
crops  look  well.  He  had  his  Peat-stack  up 
(and  mother's  little  one  beside  it)  and  his  hay 
mown,  though  the  late  rains  and  thunder  have 
retarded  that  a  little.  The  country  never 
looked  beautifuller  in  my  remembrance,  green 
and  leafy;  the  air  is  fresh,  and  all  things 
smiling  and  rejoicing  and  growing.  Austin 
is  busy  enough  now  with  work.  He  had  a 
bad  time  of  it  in  spring,  when  horse  proven- 
der was  so  dear.  The  children  are  well,  — 
even  the  eldest  looks  better  than  I  expected, 


TO  MRS.  HANNING  83 

—  and  Mary,  their  mother,  seems  hearty  and 
thrifty.  I  mentioned  that  we  had  been  at 
Dumfries.  Alick  took  up  our  Mother  and 
me  on  Friday  last  in  a  rough  "  Dandy  cart " 
of  Mrs.  Scott's  with  a  beast  of  Jamie's.  One 
of  the  first  questions  my  Mother  asked  of 
Jean  was,  "  Hast  thou  had  any  word  from 
Jenny  ? ':  To  which  the  answer  was  "  No." 
Jean's  child  is  running  about  quite  brisk, 
though  a  little  thinner  than  it  once  was  ;  from 
teeth,  I  suppose.  James  Aitken  has  plenty 
of  work,  three  or  four  journeymen.  In 
short,  they  seem  doing  well.  Finally,  Jamie 
(Maister  Cairlill)  authorizes  me  to  report  that 
he  this  day  met  with  a  brother  of  thy  Rob- 
ert's, who  said  that  the  Peat-knowes  too  were 
all  well.  The  day  after  my  arrival  here  I  fell 
in  with  William  Hanning,  the  father,  on  Mid- 
dlebie  Brae,  measuring  some  Dykes,  I  think, 
with  a  son  of  Pottsfowns.  He  looked  as  well 
as  I  have  seen  him  do.  The  same  man  as 
ever,  though  he  must  be  much  older  than 
he  once  was.  The  tea  parcel  was  forwarded 
to  him,  or  sent  for,  by  my  desire,  that  same 
night. 

Our  good  Mother  here  is  quite  well  in 
health;  indeed,  as  well  every  way  as  one 
could  expect,  though  doubtless  she  is  a  little 


84  LETTERS  OF  CAELYLE 

lonelier  now  than  when  you  were  with  her. 
She  complains  of  nothing,  but  does  her  en- 
deavour to  make  the  best  of  all  things.  She 
wishes  you  "  to  write  very  soon  and  tell  her 
how  the  world  is  serving  you."  She  would 
have  sent  a  word  or  two  to  that  effect  in  her 
own  hand,  she  says,  but  "  having  a  good 
clerk  "  (me,  namely)  "  she  does  not  need."  I 
am  to  confirm  her  promise  of  coming  with 
me  when  I  return  southward,  and  staying  till 
you  tire  of  her.  There  was  word  from  Jane 
on  Sunday  gone  a  week.  She  wrote  in  haste, 
but  at  great  length,  and  seemed  very  cheer- 
ful. She  will  not  come  hither  this  time,  I 
think.  Her  mother  is  to  return  home  about 
the  end  of  this  month.  Jane  appears  quite 
prepared  to  stay  by  herself.  She  has  some 
friends  yonder  whom  she  is  much  with,  and 
she  rather  likes  the  treat.  Mrs.  Welsh  ex- 
pects Liverpool  people  with  her  to  Templand, 
and  can  stay  no  longer. 

I  have  ended  my  paper,  dear  Jenny,  and 
given  one  of  the  meagrest  outlines  of  our 
news.  You  will  see,  however,  that  nothing 
is  going  wrong  with  us ;  that  we  are  thinking 
of  you  and  desirous  to  hear  from  you.  Be  a 
good  bairn  and  a  good  wife,  and  help  your 
Goodman  faithfully  in  all  honest  things.     He 


TO  MRS.  HANNING  85 

is  a  thrifty  fellow  with  a  good  whole  heart. 
There  is  no  danger  of  him.     Help   one  an- 
other.   Be  good  to  one  another.    God's  bless- 
ing with  you  both.     All  here  salute  you. 
I  am  always 

Your  affectionate  brother, 

T.  Carlyle. 

Meantime,  while  Jamie  was  building  his 
peat-stack  in  "the  beautifullest  weather"  that 
Carlyle  had  ever  seen,  Alick  was  setting  up  a 
shop  in  the  village  of  Ecclefechan,  and  The 
French  Revolution  was  beginning  to  take  the 
English-reading  world  for  its  parish.  The 
French  verdict  was  for  the  most  part  adverse. 
Merimee,  whether  or  not  he  agreed  with  the 
translators  in  describing  Carlyle  as  le  pheno- 
mene  d\m  protestant  poetique,  expressed  a 
sincere  desire  to  throw  the  writer  out  of  the 
window.  But  Dickens  carried  the  book  about 
with  him,  Southey  read  it  six  times  running, 
and  Mill,  approving  his  opposite,  maintained 
that  the  much  berated  style  was  of  high  ex- 
cellence. Carlyle,  wishing  to  "  lie  vacant," 
neither  read  nor  so  much  as  saw  many  of  the 
reviews,  though  he  heard  of  most  of  them. 
One  untactful  friend  sent  him  the  opinion 
of  a  certain  critical  journal,  with  which  he 


86  LETTERS  OF  CABLYLE 

forthwith  "boiled  his  teakettle."  Much  more 
than  a  pot-boiler  was  one  enthusiastic  review, 
although  that  function  of  his  article  was  sadly 
important  to  the  writer,  for  whom  Vanity 
Fair  and  fame  were  still  ten  years  ahead. 
Writes  Carlyle  to  his  brother  :  "  I  understand 
there  have  been  many  reviews  of  a  very  mixed 
character.  I  got  one  in  the  Times  last  week. 
The  writer  is  one  Thackeray,  a  half-monstrous 
Cornish  giant,  kind  of  painter,  Cambridge 
man,  and  Paris  newspaper  correspondent,  who 
is  now  writing  for  his  life  in  London.  I  have 
seen  him  at  the  Bullers'  and  at  Sterling's. 
His  article  is  rather  like  him,  and  I  suppose 
calculated  to  do  the  book  good." 
One  adds  involuntarily  :  — 

"  Brigadier,  rdpondit  Pandore, 
Brigadier,  vous  avez  raison." 

Without  regard  to  reviewers,  and  in  spite 
of  the  cholera,  the  homely  idyl  goes  melodi- 
ously on.  "  Jean  and  her  two  Jamies "  are 
Carlyle's  sister,  Mrs.  Aitken,  her  husband 
and  little  son.  "  Jamie  of  Scotsbrig  "  is,  of 
course,  Carlyle's  brother.  Betty  Smail's  short 
history  may  be  found  in  Froude's  First  Forty 
Years  of  Carlyle,  vol.  i.  p.  119. 


TO  MRS.  BANNING  87 


IX.    CARLTLE   TO   MRS.    HANNING,    MANCHESTER. 

SCOTSBRIG,  ECCLEFECHAN, 

28  Aug.  1837. 

Dear  Jenny,  —  Your  letter  to  Mary  at 
Annan  got  this  length  on  Saturday  night. 
As  you  appear  to  be  impatient  for  news  from 
this  quarter,  not  unreasonably,  having  had 
none  for  six  weeks,  I  am  appointed  to  write 
you  a  few  lines  without  any  loss  of  time  what- 
ever,—  a  thing  I  can  easily  enough  do,  being 
even  idler  to-day  than  common. 

We  were  not  so  well  pleased  to  hear  of 
your  fecklessness  and  pain  in  the  stomach 
during  the  last  fortnight,  but  we  hope  it  is 
but  something  derived  from  the  season  and 
will  not  continue.  There  is  very  often  a  kind 
of  "  British  Cholera  "  in  this  harvest  time.  It 
is  even  very  frequent  at  present  in  this  re- 
gion, owing  partly  to  the  air  (as  they  say), 
and  chiefly,  perhaps,  to  the  new  potatoes  and 
other  imperfectly  ripened  substances  which 
people  eat.  Jamie,  here,  had  a  cast  of  it  for 
two  days  just  a  week  ago,  rather  sharp,  but 
he  is  free  now.  Our  Mother  too  was  taken 
with  it,  —  came  home  rather  ill  from  Eccle- 
f echan  one  day,  —  but  by  aid  of  Castor  and 
some    prime    Brandy    has    got    quite   round 


88  LETTERS  OF  CABLYLE 

again.  You  do  not  say  that  the  disorder  has 
got  that  length  with  you,  but  very  probably 
it  is  something  related  to  the  same  business. 
The  only  remedy  is  to  be  careful  of  what  one 
eats,  to  take  due  moderate  exercise  in  the 
open  air,  in  case  of  extremity  employing  a 
little  medicine.  Cold,  especially  cold  feet 
are  very  bad  ;  but  the  great  thing  is  to  take 
care  of  one's  self,  especially  to  take  care  what 
one  eats.  New  potatoes  are  very  unwhole- 
some for  some  people. 

We  are  now  all  well  here,  and  with  the 
slight  exception  mentioned  above  have  been 
so  ever  since  I  wrote  last.  Alick  brought  us 
news  of  you.  Alick's  news  are  the  main 
ones  I  have  now  to  send  you.  He  quitted 
Annan  on  Monday  last  (this  day  gone  a 
week),  and  has  been  in  the  Big  house  at  Ec- 
clefechan  ever  since.  I  suppose  he  explained 
to  you  and  Robert  the  plan  he  had  of  setting 
up  a  shop  there.  He  has  gathered  himself 
together,  and  is  all  alive  after  that  same  en- 
terprise now.  We  had  him  and  little  Tom 
over  here  all  yesterday.  Mother,  Jamie,  and 
I  walked  with  them  to  Cleughbrae  in  the 
evening.  To-day,  as  we  understand,  he  has 
got  masons  and  actually  broken  in  upon  the 
house    to  repair    it  and  arrange    it    for  that 


TO   MRS.  HANNING  89 

object;  Hale  Moffet  and  his  retinue  having 
been  got  out.  It  is  in  a  sad  state  of  wreck, 
the  poor  house,  but  Alick  expects  to  put  a 
new  face  on  it  with  great  despatch  indeed ; 
and  then,  "  shop  drawers "  and  all  the  rest 
being  provided,  and  James  Aitken's  brush 
having:  griven  the  last  touch  to  it,  he  will  un- 
fold  his  wares  and  try  the  thing  in  the  name 
of  Hope.  We  all  pray  heartily  that  it  may 
prosper  beyond  his  expectations.  Ecclefe- 
chan  is  a  sad  Village  :  only  last  Friday  night 
some  blackguard  broke  14  panes  of  the  Meet- 
ing House  windows.  Fancy  such  an  act  of 
dastardly  atrocity  as  that !  But  it  lies  in  the 
centre  of  a  tolerable  country,  too,  and  certain 
there  is  need  of  some  good  shop  and  honest 
Trader  there. 

I  have  seen  Mary  pretty  frequently,  the 
last  time  on  Friday  last.  She  is  very  well, 
and  all  her  bairns  are  well.  James  has  al- 
ways some  work,  though  seldom  enough,  and 
Mary  is  the  brightest,  thriftiest  little  creature 
that  can  be.  They  go  on  there  as  well  as 
one  could  hope  in  these  times.  We  had  a 
letter  from  the  Doctor,  too  :  still  in  the  same 
place,  —  Albano,  near  Rome  ;  still  well ;  un- 
certain as  to  his  future  movements  or  engage- 
ments, though  it  must  be  settled  some  way 


90  LETTERS  OF  CARLYLE 

before  this  date,  if  we  knew  how.  He 
seemed  to  think  it  very  unlikely  that  he 
would  he  here  in  the  present  autumn,  the 
likeliest  of  all  that  he  would  try  to  return 
next  spring.  The  Cholera  was  in  that  coun- 
try, but  had  not  got  to  them.  We  fancy 
they  will  not  fail  to  fly  out  of  the  road  of  it, 
if  it  advance  too  near. 

I  was  at  Dumfries  since  I  wrote :  up  to 
Templand,  and  then  again  at  Dumfries  on 
my  return.  Mrs.  Welsh  came  home  several 
weeks  ago,  and  had  at  the  time  I  was  up, 
and  has  still,  her  Liverpool  friends  with  her. 
The  house  was  very  crowded.  I  was  not 
very  well,  and  stayed  only  four  and  twenty 
hours  or  so,  cutting  out  my  way  in  spite  of 
all  entreaties.  Jean  and  her  two  Jamies  are 
very  tolerably  well :  the  elder  Jamie  a  thrifty, 
effectual,  busy  man  ;  the  younger  as  yet  alto- 
gether silent,  staggering  and  tripping  about, 
—  one  of  the  gleggest  little  elves  I  have 
seen.  There  is  talk  of  her  coming  down  to 
Annan  this  very  week  to  have  the  benefit  of 
the  tide  for  sea  bathing.  Jamie  of  Scotsbrig, 
who  goes  up  to-morrow  to  pay  his  rent,  will 
bring  us  word. 

The  other  morning,  walking  out,  I  met 
Kobert's   father   at   the  "  Lengland's  Nett," 


TO  MRS.  HANNING  91 

coming  down  from  Dairlaw  Hills  with  a  row 
of  bog-hay  carts  he  had  been  buying  at  Dair- 
law Hills.  He  was  hale  and  well  to  look  at, 
and  reported  all  well.  I  suppose  he  has  been 
very  busy  of  late ;  seldom  were  so  many 
roups  seen  in  one  season ;  all  the  farmers 
selling  off,  none  of  them  having  money  for 
their  rent  day ;  Land  farm,  and  now  all  the 
stock,  crop,  and  household  furniture  have 
been  sold  off.  Poor  Clow  goes  off  for  Amer- 
ica on  Wednesday  morning  by  the  Liverpool 
steamer.  People  are  all  sorry.  The  Burn- 
foot  Irvings,  or  Sandy  Cowie  for  them,  have 
bought  his  land  :  £4000. 

Betty  Smail,  bound  for  Ecclefechan,  has 
been  waiting  this  half  hour  till  I  should  be 
done ;  I  did  not  know  of  her  when  I  began. 
The  needfullest  thing,  therefore,  that  I  can 
do  is  to  tell  you  about  our  coming.  It  will 
be  soon,  but  is  still  uncertain  when.  I 
should  say  in  about  a  fortnight,  —  nay,  in  a 
day  or  so  less  ;  but  it  depends  somewhat  on 
a  letter  we  look  for  from  Jane  which  has  not 
yet  come  to  hand.  Jane,  you  must  know, 
after  her  mother's  departure  went  into  the 
country  with  the  Sterlings,  friends  of  hers. 
I  wish  her  to  stay  there  while  she  likes,  and 
would  get  home  about  the  same  time  as  she; 


92  LETTERS  OF  CARLYLE 

a  month  was  the  time  she ,  first  spoke  of,  and 
that  I  have  little  doubt  will  suffice,  —  so  my 
guess  is  as  above  given.  A  newspaper  with 
one  stroke  on  it  will  come  to  you  (barring 
mistakes)  two  days  before  you  are  to  look  for 
us.  This  shall  be  a  token,  and  we  need  not 
write  any  more.  Alick  has  some  talk  of 
coming  with  us  to  get  his  goods  ready  then, 
but  I  think  he  will  hardly  be  ready.  The 
butter  and  another  firkin  of  butter  has  been 
talked  of  and  will  be  forthcoming,  but  it 
seems  dubious  whether  any  of  it  will  get  with 
us.  It  can  come  before  or  after,  I  believe 
safe  and  with  little  expense.  Mother  will 
bring  "  some  pounds  of  it "'  in  her  box.  I 
shall  perhaps  be  obliged  to  go  back  by  Liver- 
pool, and  must  not  calculate  to  stay  more 
with  you  than  a  day.  My  Mother  sends  you 
both  her  love  (she  is  smoking  here)  ;  she 
"  will  tell  you  all  her  news  "  when  we  come. 
Compliments  and  good  wishes  to  Robert  from 
all  of  us.  We  are  glad  to  hear  his  trade  is 
better.  A  glegg  fellow  like  him  will  get 
through  worse  troubles  than  this.  God  keep 
you,  my  dear  little  Jenny. 

Your  affectionate  Brother, 

T.  Carlyle. 


MRS.   CARLYLE  TO  MRS.  HANNING  93 

X.     TO   MES.    HANKING,   MANCHESTER,    FROM   HER 

MOTHER. 

[Scotsbrig]  January  11th  [1838]. 

Dear  Children,  —  I  received  your  letter 
this  day  about  mid-day.  Then  Alick  and  his 
family  came  here,  so  we  talked  on  till  bed- 
time ;  and  now  they  are  gone  to  bed.  I  am 
sorry  to  hear  that  Jenny  is  poorly.  I  intend 
to  see  you  very  soon  ;  I  cannot  say  pointedly 
which  day  yet.  I  am  going  down  to  Annan 
with  Alick,  and  will  fix.  It  shall  not  be 
long,  God  willing.  I  have  some  thoughts  of 
taking  the  steamer.  Keep  up  your  heart, 
Jenny,  and  be  well  when  I  come.  Trust  in 
God,  casting  all  your  cares  on  Him.  He  is  a 
kind  father  to  all  them  that  put  their  trust  in 
Him.  I  will  say  no  more  to-night ;  it  is  late. 
Do  you  think  the  railway  is  passable  ? 

I  had  not  finished  this  scrawl  when  I  re- 
ceived your  last  letter,  of  which  I  was  very 
glad.  It  is  all  well,  God's  will  be  done.  I 
was  coming  by  the  steamer  on  Thursday  or 
Friday.  Now  I  will  let  the  storm  blow  by. 
Now,  Jenny,  be  very  careful  of  yourself; 
take  care  of  cold,  and  likewise  what  you  eat. 
May  God's  blessing  rest  on  us  all.  May  He 
make  us  thankful  for  all  His  ways  of  dealing 


94  LETTERS  OF  CABLYLE 

with  us.  Write  soon.  You  may  direct  to 
Annan,  as  I  will  be  there  some  time.  Could 
you  let  Tom  know  that  I  am  there,  also,  and 
that  I  am  well?  Now,  bairns,  write  soon. 
You  see  I  cannot  write,  though  nobody  would 
take  greater  pleasure  in  it. 

Your  own  mother, 

Margaret  A.  C. 
P.  S.  My  tooth  is  better,  though  not  very 
sound   yet.      I   forgot   to   thank    you   very 
kindly  for  the  things  you  sent  me. 

In  the  two  ensuing  years  Carlyle  gave  two 
more  courses  of  lectures,  both  notably  suc- 
cessful. Among  many  other  new  acquaint- 
ances was  Mr.  Baring,  afterward  Lord  Ash- 
burton,  who,  with  his  two  wives,  was  to  figure 
so  largely  in  the  lives  of  Carlyle  and  his  wife. 
Sartor  Resartus  was  published  in  England, 
and  republished  in  the  United  States.  Chart- 
ism was  written  and  printed.  Other  events 
of  the  same  biennium  were  Mrs.  Carlyle's 
"  only  Soiree,"  the  appearance  of  Count  d'Or- 
say  in  Cheyne  Row,  and  Mr.  Marshall's  gift 
to  Carlyle  of  a  mare,  —  "  Citoyenne  "to  be 
called. 

After    several   visits     in    Scotland   during 
the    summer   of    1838,    Carlyle   went    home 


NOISY  MANCHESTER  95 

again  to  Scotsbrig.  On  his  return  thence, 
he  spent  a  few  days  in  Manchester  with  Mrs. 
Hanning.  "  He  had  been  put  to  sleep  in  an 
old  bed,  which  he  remembered  in  his  father's 
house."  "  I  was  just  closing  my  senses  in 
sweet  oblivion,"  wrote  he,  "  when  the  watch- 
man, with  a  voice  like  the  deepest  groan  of 
the  Highland  bagpipe,  or  what  an  ostrich 
corncraik  might  utter,  groaned  out  Groo-o-o-o 
close  under  me,  and  set  me  all  in  a  gallop 
again.  Groo-o-o-o  ;  for  there  was  no  articu- 
late announcement  at  all  in  it,  that  I  could 
gather.  Groo-o-o-o,  repeated  again  and  again 
at  various  distances,  dying  out  and  then 
growing  loud  again,  for  an  hour  or  more.  I 
grew  impatient,  bolted  out  of  bed,  flung  up 
the  window.  Groo-o-o-o.  There  he  was  ad- 
vancing, lantern  in  hand,  a  few  yards  off  me. 
1  Can't  you  give  up  that  noise  ?  '  I  hastily 
addressed  him.  '  You  are  keeping  a  person 
awake.  What  good  is  it  to  go  howling  and 
groaning  all  night,  and  deprive  people  of 
their  sleep  ? '  He  ceased  from  that  time  — 
at  least  I  heard  no  more  of  him.  No  watch- 
man, I  think,  has  been  more  astonished  for 
some  time  back.  At  five  in  the  morning 
all  was  as  still  as  sleep  and  darkness.  At 
half  past  five  all  went  off  like  an  enormous 


96  LETTERS  OF  CARLYLE 

mill-race  or  ocean-tide.  The  Boom-m-m,  far 
and  wide.  It  was  the  mills  that  were  all  start- 
ing then,  and  creishy  drudges  by  the  million 
taking  post  there.  I  have  heard  few  sounds 
more  impressive  to  me  in  the  mood  I  was 
in." 

The  following  letter  belongs  to  the  time 
between  the  Hannings'  departure  from  Man- 
chester and  Mr.  Hanning's  sailing  for  Amer- 
ica. Kirtlebridge,  where  they  were  now  liv- 
ing, is  a  few  miles  southeast  of  Ecclefechan. 
"  The  little  <  trader,'  "  the  "  bit  creeture," 
was  probably  Mrs.  Hanning's  first  child,  Mar- 
garet Aitken  Carlyle,  who  was  not  yet  two 
years  old.  The  reference  to  the  new  penny 
post  marks  an  era. 

xi.    carlyle  to  mrs.  hansting,  kirtlebridge. 

5  Cheyke  Row,  Chelsea,  London, 
7  Feb.  1840. 

Dear  Jenny,  —  Had  I  known  definitely 
how  to  address  a  word  to  you,  I  might  surely 
have  done  so  long  before  this.  We  have 
heard  in  general  that  you  are  stationed  some- 
where in  the  Village  of  Kirtlebrido;e  or  near 
it,  and  we  fancy  in  general  that  your  hus- 
band is  struggling  along  with  his  old  impetu- 
osity.    From  yourself  we    have    no    tidings. 


TO  MRS.  HANNING  97 

Pray,  now  that  the  Postage  is  so  cheap,  send 
us  a  pennyworth  some  day.  I  address  this 
through  Alick,  fancying  such  may  be  the 
best  way. 

I  enclose  my  last  letter  from  the  Doctor. 
I  wrote  to  him  the  day  before  yesterday  to 
his  final  destination.  I  calculate  he  may 
have  got  my  letter  to-day,  —  that  is  two  days 
after  his  arrival.  By  that  note  all  seems  to  be 
going  well  with  him  ;  —  we  are  all  well  here, 
as  well  as  our  wont  is,  and  fighting  along 
with  printers,  proof  sheets  &c,  &c.  Jane 
cannot  regularly  get  out ;  so  horribly  tem- 
pestuous, wet  and  uncertain  is  the  weather, 
which  keeps  her  still  sickly,  but  she  never 
breaks  actually  down.  How  is  the  little 
"  trader,"  as  Jean  or  some  of  them  call  her  ? 
I  remember  the  "bit  creeture "  very  dis- 
tinctly. 

This  is  the  worst  year  or  among  the  worst 
for  working  people  ever  seen  in  man's  mem- 
ory. Robert  must  not  take  this  as  a  measure 
of  his  future  success,  but  toil  away  stead- 
fastly in  sure  hope  of  better  times.  It  is 
well  anyway  that  you  are  out  of  Manchester ; 
nothing  there  but  hunger,  contention  and  de- 
spair —  added  to  the  reek  and  dirt !  Be  dili- 
gent and  fear  nothing. 


98  LETTERS  OF  CARLYLE 

Do  you  often  run  over  to  see  our  dear  Mo- 
ther in  her  Upper  Room  yonder  ?  It  will  be  a 
great  comfort  to  her  that  she  has  you  so  near. 
Pray  explain  to  me  what  part  of  the  Village 
it  is  that  you  live  in.  I  thought  I  knew  it 
all,  but  I  do  not  know  Firpark  Nook.  Give 
my  best  wishes  to  your  Goodman.  Accept 
my  thanks  for  your  written  remembrance, 
from  one  who  always  silently  remembers  you 
in  his  heart. 

On  April  23  of  this  year  Carlyle  wrote  in 
his  journal,  "  Miscellanies  out,  and  Chartism 
second  thousand."  A  month  later  he  re- 
lieved his  mother's  anxiety  about  the  last  of 
his  lectures  on  Heroes  and  Hero-Worship : 
"I  contrived  to  tell  them  something  about 
poor  Cromwell,  and  I  think  to  convince  them 
that  he  was  a  great  and  true  man,  the  valiant 
soldier  in  England  of  what  John  Knox  had 
preached  in  Scotland.  In  a  word,  the  people 
seemed  agreed  that  it  was  my  best  course  of 
lectures,  this."  Certainly  his  last  course  of 
lectures,  this.  He  never  spoke  from  a  plat- 
form again  till  twenty-six  years  later,  when, 
as  Lord  Rector,  he  addressed  the  students 
of  Edinburgh  University.  He  detested  the 
"  mixture  of  prophecy  and  play-acting."     In 


CARLYLE    IX   THE   GARDEN   OF    5   CHEYNE   ROW,   CHELSEA 

July  20.  1S37 


SUMMER  IN  LONDON  99 

the  midst  of  his  own  work  of  making  ready 
these  final  lectures  for  publication,  Carlyle 
found  time  to  push  the  London  Library 
along.  He  thought  England,  as  regarded  its 
provision  of  books  for  the  poor,  in  "  a  con- 
dition worthier  of  Dahomey  than  of  Eng- 
land." 

Yet,  in  spite  of  this  good  and  successful 
work  for  the  library,  Carlyle  was  of  a  mind 
to  write,  on  July  3  :  "  Alas  !  I  get  so  dyspep- 
tical, melancholic,  half  mad  in  the  London 
summer :  all  courage  to  do  anything  but  hold 
my  peace  fades  away ;  I  dwindle  into  the 
pusillanimity  of  the  ninth  part  of  a  tailor, 
feel  as  if  I  had  nothing  I  could  do  but  '  die 
in  my  hole  like  a  poisoned  rat.'  He  was 
apparently  brought  to  the  pitch  of  applying 
to  himself  this  most  terrible  word  of  Swift's 
by  the  necessity  of  serving  on  a  special  jury. 
Let  us  set  over  against  it  what  he  said  — 
never  to  be  too  often  quoted  —  about  a  friend 
whom  he  found  sitting  smoking  in  the  garden 
one  evening,  with  Mrs.  Carlyle :  "  A  fine, 
large  -  featured,  dim  -  eyed,  bronze-coloured, 
shaggy-headed  man  is  Alfred ;  dusty,  smoky, 
free  and  easy,  who  swims  outwardly  and 
inwardly  with  great  composure  in  an  inarticu- 
late element  of   tranquil   chaos  and  tobacco 


100  LETTERS  OF  CARLYLE 

smoke.  Great  now  and  then  when  he  does 
emerge,  —  a  most  restful,  brotherly,  solid- 
hearted  man."  Taken  together  with  what 
Tennyson  himself  called  "  the  dirty  monk  ': 
portrait,  this  probably  gives  a  better  picture 
of  him  than  most  of  us  could  have  made  for 
ourselves  with  the  eye  of  the  flesh.  Other, 
less  welcome  visitors  came  to  Carlyle  that 
summer,  —  among  them  a  young  woman  from 
Boston,  whom  he  called  "  a  diseased  rosebud." 
But  America  sent  money  as  well  as  flowers, 
and  the  summer,  according  to  Froude,  brought 
the  net  result  up  to  four  hundred  pounds. 

By  August,  the  lecture-writing  now  two 
thirds  done,  Carlyle,  having  so  far  taken  no 
holiday,  made  a  week's  riding-tour  in  Sussex 
on  the  back  of  the  gift-horse,  Citoyenne. 
"  Mrs.  Carlyle  described  to  us,  some  years 
after,"  says  "the  skilful  biographer,"  "in  her 
husband's  presence,  his  setting  out  on  this 
expedition  ;  she  drew  him  in  her  finest  style 
of  mockery,  —  his  cloak,  his  knapsack,  his 
broad-brimmed  hat,  his  preparation  of  pipes, 
etc.,  —  comparing  him  to  Dr.  Syntax.  He 
laughed  as  loud  as  any  of  us,  —  it  was  impos- 
sible not  to  laugh  ;  but  it  struck  me,  even 
then,  that  the  wit,  however  brilliant,  was 
rather  untender." 


THOMAS  EE SEINE  101 

On  the  eve  of  riding  forth,  Carlyle  wrote 
to  his  mother.  The  Bullers,  mentioned  in 
the  letter  which  follows,  were  the  family  of 
Charles  Buller,  to  whom  he  had  been  tutor. 
Buller  died  eight  years  afterward,  in  the 
midst  of  a  brilliant  parliamentary  career. 
The  "  clergyman ':  was  probably  the  Rev. 
Julius  Hare.  I  find  no  record  of  a  visit  to 
Erskine  until  three  years  later.  Carlyle  had 
written  to  his  brother  John,  in  the  winter  of 
1838  :  "  Did  you  ever  see  Thomas  Erskine, 
the  Scotch  saint  ?  I  have  seen  him  several 
times  lately,  and  like  him  as  one  would  do  a 
draught  of  sweet  rustic  mead,  served  in  cut 
glasses  and  a  silver  tray  ;  one  of  the  gentlest, 
kindliest,  best  bred  of  men.  He  talks  greatly 
about  i  Symbols,'  and  other  Teufelsdrockhi- 
ana ;  seems  not  disinclined  to  let  the  Christian 
religion  pass  for  a  kind  of  mythus,  provided 
men  can  retain  the  spirit  of  it.  .  .  .  On  the 
whole  I  take  up  with  my  old  love  for  the 
Saints."  And  from  that  time  Carlyle  held 
much  salutary  communion  with  "  St.  Thomas," 
as  Mrs.  Carlyle  used  playfully  to  call  him. 


102  LETTERS  OF  CAELYLE 

XH.     CARLYLE   TO   HIS   MOTHER,    SCOTSBRIG. 

Chelsea,  1st  August,  1840. 

My  dear  Mother,  —  Before  setting  out 
orf  my  long-talked-of  excursion  I  must  send 
you  a  word.    I  am  to  go  to  the  B  tillers'  place 
to-morrow,  a  place  near  Epsom  (the  great  race 
course)  some  eighteen  miles  of.     I  am  to  ride 
out  with  a  Macintosh  before  my  saddle  and  a 
small  round  trunk  the  size  of  a  quartern  loaf 
fastened  behind,  and  no  clothes  upon  me  that 
bad  weather  will  spoil.     I  shall  be  one  of  the 
most  original  figures  !     I  mean  to  stay  a  day 
or  two  about  Buller's,  riding  to  and  fro  to 
see  the  fine  green  country.     I  have  written 
to  a  clergyman,  an  acquaintance  of  mine  on 
the  South  coast  some  40  miles  farther  off :  if 
he   repeat  the  invitation    he    once  gave  me, 
perhaps  I  shall  ride  to  him  and  see  the  place 
where  William  the  Conqueror  fought  &c.  and 
have  one  dip  in  the  sea.     I  mean  to  be  out 
in  all  about  a  week.     The  weather  has  grown 
suddenly  bright.     I  calculate  the  sight  of  the 
green  earth  spotted  yellow  with  ripe  corn  will 
do  me  good.     After  that  I  am  to  part  with 
my  horse  :  the  expense  of  it  is  a  thing  I  can- 
not but  continually  grudge.     I  think  it  will 
suit  better  henceforth  to  get  rolled  out  on  a 


TO  HIS  MOTHER  103 

railway  some  20  miles,  clear  of  all  bricks  and 
reek,  to  walk  then  for  half  a  day,  now  and 
then,  and  so  come  home  at  night  again. 
The  expense  of  a  horse  every  day  here  is 
nearer  four  than  three  shillings,  far  too  heavy 
for  a  little  fellow  like  me,  whom  even  it  does 
not  make  altogether  healthy.  I  have  offered 
to  give  the  beast  to  Mr.  Marshall  (son  of  the 
original  donor),  wdio  kept  her  for  me  last 
winter.  I  hope  he  will  accept  on  my  return. 
It  will  be  much  the  handsomest  way  of  end- 
ing the  concern.  If  he  refuses  I  think  I 
shall  sell.  I  meditated  long  on  riding  all  the 
way  up  to  Carlisle  and  you !  But  in  the 
humor  I  am  in,  I  had  not  heart  for  it.  These 
Southern  coasts  too  are  a  still  newer  part  of 
England  for  me.  I  give  up  the  riding  North- 
ward, but  not  the  coming  Northward  yet,  as 
you  shall  hear. 

My  Fourth  Lecture  was  finished  three  days 
ago.  On  returning  strong,  as  I  hope  to  do  a 
week  hence,  I  will  attack  my  two  remaining 
lectures  and  dash  them  off  speedily.  The 
Town  will  be  empty  —  none  to  disturb  me. 
About  the  end  of  August  I  may  hope  to  have 
my  hands  quite  free,  and  then !  Thomas 
Erskine  invites  me  to  Dundee  &c.  There 
are  steamers,  steam  coaches,  —  I  shall  surely 
see  you. 


104  LETTERS  OF  CARLYLE 

Alick's  good  letter  gave  me  welcome  tid- 
ings of  you.  I  had  read  your  own  dear  little 
epistle  before.  Heaven  be  praised  for  your 
welfare.  I  am  glad  to  hear  of  "the  peat- 
shed  ':  and  figure  to  myself  the  cauldron 
singing  under  your  windows.  I  have  written 
to-day  to  Jack.  There  had  come  a  letter 
from  Miss  Elliott  for  him  from  the  Isle  of 
Wight :  he  once  talked  of  settling  there.  I 
know  not  whether  that  is  still  in  the  wind 
again.  He  will  have  to  decide  about  the 
Pellipar  affair  in  three  weeks  or  less. 

To-day  I  enclose  a  little  half  sovereign. 
You  must  accept  it  merely  to  buy  gooseber- 
ries :  they  are  really  very  wholesome.  I  am 
to  go  into  the  City  to  send  off  some  money 
for  the  Bank  at  Dumfries.  I  am  in  great 
haste.  I  will  write  again  directly  on  my 
return  if  not  sooner. 

Alick's  letter,  tell  him,  was  the  pleasantest 
he  has  sent  for  many  a  day.  I  thank  him 
much  for  it  and  will  answer  soon.  I  still 
owe  Jamie  a  letter  too :  he  is  very  patient, 
but  shall  be  paid.  Did  you  ever  go  near  the 
sea  again  ?  This  is  beautiful  weather  for  it 
now.  It  would  do  you  and  little  Tom  good, 
I  think. 

Jane  still  likes  the  warmth  and  salutes  you 


TO  MRS.  HANNING  105 

all.  Wish  me  a  good  journey  !  It  is  like  to 
be  a  very  brief  and  smooth  one.  Adieu, 
dear  Mother. 

Carlyle  was  disappointed  in  his  hope  of 
going  home.  He  did  not  visit  Scotsbrig 
again  for  another  year. 

So  long  before  as  January,  1839,  Carlyle 
had  written  to  his  brother  :  "  I  have  my  face 
turned  partly  towards  Oliver  Cromwell  and 
the  Covenant  time  in  England  and  Scotland." 
He  continued  to  read  and  think  much  on  the 
subject ;  and  in  the  autumn  of  1840  he  wrote 
to  Mr.  Erskine  :  "  I  have  got  lately,  not  till 
very  lately,  to  fancy  that  I  see  in  Cromwell 
one  of  the  greatest  tragic  souls  we  have  ever 
had  in  this  kindred  of  ours."  But  in  this 
letter  to  his  sister,  as  in  so  many  another, 
there  is  no  mention  save  of  the  close  family 
kindred  of  the  Carlyles  :  — 

XIII.      CARLYLE   TO   MRS.    HANNING,    KIRTLEBRIDGE. 

5  Cheyne  Row,  Chelsea,  7  October,  1840. 

Dear  Jenny,  —  Will  you  take  a  word 
from  me  to-day  in  place  of  many  hundreds 
which  I  wish  I  had  the  means  of  sending 
you  ?  My  time  is  very  limited  indeed,  but 
the  sight  of  my  handwriting  may  be  a  kind 


106  LETTERS   OF  CABLYLE 

of  enlivener  to  your  kind  thoughts  about  me. 
My  dear  Mother  tells  me  you  are  afraid  some- 
times I  may  have  forgotten  you.  Believe 
that  never,  my  dear  little  sister,  it  will  forever 
be  an  error  if  you  do  !  The  whirl  I  am  kept 
in  here  is  a  thing  you  can  form  no  notion  of, 
nor  how  natural  or  indeed  inevitable  it  is  for 
me  to  give  up  writing  letters  at  all  except 
when  I  am  bound  and  obliged  to  do  it.  You 
have  no  lack  of  news  from  me  ;  to  my  Mother 
at  least  I  send  abundant  details.  Did  I  not 
answer  your  letter  too  ?  I  surely  meant  and 
ought  to  have  done  it.  If  at  any  time  you 
wanted  the  smallest  thing  that  I  could  do  for 
you,  and  wrote  about,  I  should  be  busier  than 
I  have  ever  yet  been,  if  I  did  not  answer.  — - 
In  short,  dear  Jenny,  whatever  sins  I  may 
have,  whatever  more  I  may  seem  to  have,  try 
to  think  handsomely  of  them,  to  forgive 
them.  And  above  all  things,  consider  that 
whether  I  write  many  letters  or  few,  my 
affection  for  you  is  a  thing  that  will  never 
leave  me. 

My  Mother  tells  me  frequently  how  good 
you  are  to  her  ;  what  a  satisfaction  it  is  that 
you  are  so  near  her.  I  thank  you  a  hundred 
times  for  your  goodness  to  her ;  but  I  know 
you  do   not   need  my  thanks  or  encourage- 


TO  MRS.  HANNING  107 

ment  —  and  to  me  it  is  a  real  comfort  to 
reflect  that  you,  with  your  true  heart  and 
helpful  hand,  are  always  so  near.  Surely  it 
is  a  duty  for  us  all,  and  a  blessing  in  the 
doing  of  it,  to  take  care  of  our  Mother,  and 
promote  her  comfort  by  all  means  possible  to 
us  !  I  will  love  you  better  and  better  for 
this. 

You  would  see  by  my  Mother's  last  letter, 
where  the  Doctor  is  at  present.  I  have  heard 
nothing  since  I  had  a  Newspaper  from  Dum- 
fries, the  other  day,  no  letters.  I  mentioned 
that  the  box  for  Scotsbrig  was  to  be  sent  off ; 
it  went  accordingly  and  is  now  on  the  way  to 
Liverpool,  likely  to  be  with  you  soon.  There 
is  a  small  parcel  in  it  for  you.  We  rejoice 
to  hear  that  Robert  prospers  in  his  business  : 
it  is  difficult  to  prosper  in  any  business  at 
present.  A  man  of  industry,  sobriety,  and 
steadiness  of  purpose ;  such  a  man  has  a 
chance  if  anybody  have.  Jane  is  certainly 
in  better  health  this  year  than  I  have  seen 
her  for  a  good  while.  We  wait  to  see  what 
she  will  say  to  the  cold  weather  !  I  myself 
am  as  well  as  usual ;  no  great  shakes  of  a 
wellness  at  any  time.  I  expect  to  be  busy, 
very  busy  this  winter,  which  is  the  best  con- 
solation for  all  things.     How  I  should  like 


108  LETTERS   OF  CARLYLE 

to  hear  of  Jamie's  harvest  being  all  thatched  ! 
My  love  to  my  Mother,  to  Alick  and  all  the 
rest.  Jane  unites  with  me  in  special  remem- 
brances to  Robert  and  the  glegg  little  lassie. 

Yours,  dear  Jenny,  in  great  haste,  in  all 
truth,  T.  Carlyle. 

Late  in  November,  Carlyle,  "  greatly 
against  wont,"  went  out  to  dinner.  Among 
the  people  he  met  were  "  Pickwick  "  and  old 
Rogers,  "  still  brisk,  courteous,  kindly  affec- 
tionate —  a  good  old  man,  pathetic  to  look 
upon."  Carlyle's  acquaintances  did  not  al- 
ways grow  in  his  favor,  and  six  years  later  he 
said  of  Rogers  :  "  I  do  not  remember  any  old 
man  (he  is  now  eighty-three)  whose  manner 
of  living;  grave  me  less  satisfaction."  In  this 
winter  of  1840-41,  his  dissatisfaction  with 
things  in  general  made  him  think  at  times  of 
so  desperate  a  move  as  retreating  again  to 
Craigenputtock.  Still  he  kept  on  with  the 
reading  of  "  needful  books."  "  He  has  had 
it  in  his  head  for  a  good  while,"  said  Mrs. 
Carlyle  to  a  correspondent,  on  the  8th  of 
January,  1841,  "  to  write  a  e  life  of  Cromwell,' 
and  has  been  sitting  for  months  back  in  a 
mess  of  great  dingy  folios,  the  very  look  of 
which  is  like  to  give  me  locked-jaw." 


TO  MRS.   HANNING  109 

Mrs.  Hanning's  second  child,  Mary,  was 
born  December  24,  1840. 

XIV.     CARLVLE   TO   MRS.    HANNING,    KIRTLEBRIDGE. 

Chelsea,  15th  January,  1841. 

Dear  Jenny,  —  We  have  heard  very  fre- 
quently from  Alick  of  late  about  you,  for 
which  punctuality  we  are  greatly  obliged  to 
him.  You  have  had  a  bad  turn,  poor  little 
Jenny,  and  we  were  all  anxious  enough  to 
hear  from  day  to  day,  as  you  may  believe, 
how  it  went  with  you.  Alick  reports  of  late, 
yesterday  in  particular,  that  you  are  now  con- 
sidered out  of  danger,  steadily  getting  better. 
We  will  hope  and  believe  it  so,  till  we  hear 
otherwise.  You  must  take  good  care  of  your- 
self. This  weather  is  good  for  no  creature, 
and  must  be  worst  of  all  for  one  in  your  situ- 
ation. Do  not  venture  from  the  fire  at  all, 
till  the  horrible  slush  of  snow  be  off  the 
ground. 

And  what  becomes  of  our  good  Mother  all 
this  time  ?  She  could  not  be  at  rest  of  course 
if  she  were  not  beside  you,  watching  over  you 
herself.  Alick  struggles  to  report  favourably 
of  her,  but  we  have  our  own  apprehensions. 
What  can  I  do  but  again  and  again  urge  her 
to  take  all  possible  precautions  about  herself 


110  LETTERS  OF  CABLYLE 

(which  however  she  will  not  do  !)  and  trust 
that  she  may  escape  without  serious  mischief. 
If  you  were  once  up  again  I  will  fancy  you 
taking  care  of  her.  It  must  be  a  great  com- 
fort to  have  you  so  near  her  —  within  walk- 
ing- distance  in  the  good  season. 

We  have  never  had  here  so  ugly  a  winter  : 
first  violent  frost,  snow  &c,  then  still  nastier 
times  of  the  thawing  sort ;  for  a  week  past 
there  has  been  nothing  but  sleet,  rime  and 
slobber,  the  streets  half  an  inch  deep  with 
slush  and  yet  a  cake  of  slippery  ice  lying 
below  that ;  so  in  spite  of  daily  and  hourly 
sweeping  and  scraping,  they  constantly  con- 
tinue. I,  with  some  few  others,  go  daily  out, 
whatever  wind  blow.  I  am  covered  to  the 
throat  in  warm  wool  of  various  textures  and 
can  get  into  heat  in  spite  of  fate.  Jane  too 
holds  out  wonderfully,  ventures  forth  when 
there  is  a  bright  blink  once  in  a  week ;  sits 
quiet  as  a  mouse  when  the  winds  are  piping 
abroad.  We  understand  you  are  far  deeper 
in  snow  than  we.  I  believe  there  is  now  a 
good  thick  quilt  of  it  lying  over  the  entire 
surface  of  the  Island. 

The  Doctor  was  here  till  Tuesday  morning. 
We  saw  him  daily  with  much  speech  and  sat- 
isfaction.    A  letter  yesterday  announced  that 


TO  MRS.  HANNING  111 

they   were   fairly    settled   in    Wight    again. 
He  looked  as  well  as  need  be. 

I  have  sent  by  Alick  a  bit  half-sovereign 
to  buy  the  poor  new  bairn  a  new  pock.  You 
must  take  it  without  grumbling.  Tell  my 
dear  Mother  that  she  must  take  care  of  her- 
self, that  I  will  write  to  her  before  many  days 
go.  Better  health  to  us  all.  Our  kind  wishes 
to  Robert.  Good  be  with  you  every  one. 
Your  affectionate  brother, 

T.  Carlyle. 

Here  is  another  and  a  more  highly  elabo- 
rated bit  of  London  weather  from  an  undated 
fragment  in  Mrs.  Hanning's  possession  at  the 
time  of  her  death  :  — 

"  Our  weather  is  grown  decidedly  good  for 
the  last  three  days  ;  very  brisk,  clear  and  dry. 
Before  that  it  was  as  bad  as  weather  at  any 
time  need  be :  long  continued  plunges  of  wet, 
then  clammy,  glarry  days  on  days  of  half 
wet  (a  kind  of  weather  peculiar  to  London, 
and  fully  uglier  than  whole  wet)  :  —  a  world 
of  black  sunless  pluister,  very  unpleasant  to 
move  about  in  !  The  incessant  travel  makes 
everything  mud  here,  in  spite  of  all  that  clats 
and  besoms  can  do  ;  a  kind  of  mud,  too, 
which  is  as  fine  as  paint,  and  actually  almost 


112  LETTERS  OF  CABLYLE 

sticks  like  a  kind  of  paint !  I  took,  at  last, 
into  the  country,  with  old  clothes  and  trousers 
folded  up ;  there  the  mud  was  natural  mud, 
and  far  less  of  it,  indeed,  little  of  it  in  com- 
parison with  other  country.  We  dry  again 
in  a  single  day  of  brisk  wind." 

Early  in  1841  Carlyle  arranged  with  Fraser 
for  the  publication  of  Heroes  and  Hero-wor- 
ship. "  The  Miscellanies,  Sartor,  and  the 
other  books,"  says  Froude,  "  were  selling 
well,  and  fresh  editions  were  wanted." 

XV.     CARLYLE    TO    HIS    MOTHER,    SCOTSBRIG. 

Chelsea,  Saturday  [February,  1841]. 

My  dear  good  Mother,  —  Take  half  a 
word  from  me  to-day  since  I  have  no  time  for 
more.  I  had  forgotten  that  it  was  Saturday 
till  after  breakfast  I  learnt  it,  and  ever  since 
there  has  been  business  on  business ! 

We  received  your  good  little  letter  one 
evening  and  sent  it  on  to  John.  Thanks  to 
you  for  it.  I  had  a  letter  too  from  Grahame 
about  his  Miscellanies,  for  which  he  seems 
amazingly  thankful,  poor  fellow.  We  will 
not  tell  him  about  the  Ecclef echan  Library  — 
let  well  be  ! 

John  also  sends  word  of  himself  —  all  right 
enough,  the  "  probability  '  that  he  will  be 
here  again  before  long. 


TO  HIS  MOTHER  113 

Jane  and  I  are  well,  rejoicing  in  the  im- 
proved weather,  not  the  best  of  weather  yet, 
but  immensely  better  than  it  was.  Some 
days  have  been  sunny  and  bright,  a  pleasant 
prophecy  of  spring. 

I  have  bargained  with  Fraser  for  my  lec- 
tures. They  are  now  at  press,  that  kept  me 
so  very  busy.  He  would  give  me  only  £75, 
the  dog,  but  then  he  undertakes  a  new  edi- 
tion of  Sartor,  too,  (the  former  being  sold) 
and  gives  me  another  £75  for  that  too.  It 
is  not  so  bad,  £150  of  ready  money  —  at 
least  money  without  risk.  I  did  not  calculate 
on  getting  anything  at  present  for  Teufels- 
droeckh.  You  see  we  are  rather  rising  than 
falling,  "  mall  in  shaft,"  at  any  rate.  That 
is  always  a  great  point.  Poor  Teufelsdroeckh, 
it  seems  very  curious  money  should  lie  even 
in  him.  They  trampled  him  into  the  gutters 
at  his  first  appearance,  but  he  rises  up  again, 
—  finds  money  bid  for  him. 

On  the  whole  I  expect  not  to  be  obliged  to 
lecture  this  year,  which  will  be  an  immense 
relief  to  me  :  I  shall  not  be  broken  in  pieces, 
I  shall  have  strength  for  perhaps  some  better 
things  than  lecturing. 

You  spoke  of  going  to  Dumfries  :  I  am 
always  afraid  of  your  getting  hurt  on  those 


114  LETTERS   OF  CARLYLE 

expeditions,  but  I  suppose  you  will  not  be 
able  to  rest  without  going.  I  wish  Jean  and 
you  both  were  through  it. 

By  the  bye,  did  I  ever  sufficiently  tell  Isa- 
bella that  her  butter  continues  excellent,  none 
better.  I  owe  Jamie  a  letter  too.  Alick 
ought  to  have  been  apprised  how  good  his 
bacon  was  —  was,  for  alas,  I  myself  eat  the 
most  part  of  it  and  it  is  done  :  some  weeks 
ago  his  tobacco  ran  out ;  I  never  told  this 
either  —  I  forgot  everything  ! 

Well,  dear  Mother,  this  is  all  I  can  say  in 
my  hurry.  I  will  write  again  soon,  but  with 
two  Books  at  the  printer's  with  &c,  &c, 
what  can  a  poor  man  do  ?  Be  good  bairns, 
one  and  all  of  you. 

Your  ever  affectionate 

T.  Carlyle. 

When  the  proofs  of  Hero-Worship  were 
finished,  visits  to  Richard  Monckton  Milnes 
(afterward  Lord  Houghton),  and  to  the  James 
Marshalls  at  Headingly,  gave  Carlyle  what 
seem  to  have  been  his  first  glimpses  of  life  in 
great  country  houses.  On  the  17th  of  April, 
1841,  he  communicated  his  impressions  to  his 
wife :  "I  never  lived  before  in  such  an 
element   of    'much   ado   about   almost   No- 


TO  MRS.   HANNING  115 

thing- ; '  life  occupied  altogether  in  getting 
itself  lived ;  ...  and  such  champagning, 
claretting,  and  witty  conversationing.  Ach 
Gott !  I  would  sooner  be  a  ditcher  than 
spend  all  my  days  so.  However,  we  got 
rather  tolerably  through  it  for  these  ten 
days."  Visits  to  his  mother,  Miss  Martineau, 
the  Speddings,  and  a  month  in  lodgings  at 
Newby  —  where  he  probably  did  not  think 
of  Redgauntlet  —  disposed  of  most  of  the 
remaining  holiday,  and  brought  Carlyle  back 
to  Cheyne  Row  in  September.  The  book 
would  not  yet  begin  itself.  "  Ought  I  to 
write  now  of  Oliver  Cromwell  ?  Gott  weiss  ; 
I  cannot  yet  see  clearly."  Toward  the  close 
of  this  year,  Carlyle  was  asked  to  let  himself 
be  nominated  to  the  new  History  Chair  in 
Edinburgh  University.  He  declined,  with 
noble  thanks. 

"  Our  brother,"  whom  Carlyle  writes  of  to 
Mrs.  Hanning,  was  their  half-brother,  already 
referred  to,  who  had  emigrated  to  Canada  in 
1837,  and  died  there  in  1872. 

XVI.     CARLYLE   TO   MRS.    HANNING,    DUMFRIES. 

Chelsea,  24  Nov'r,  1841. 
Dear  Jenny,  —  Here  is  the  American  let- 
ter you  spoke  of.     It  arrived  yesterday,  and 


116  LETTERS  OF  CARLYLE 

to-day,  after  showing  it  to  John,  I  send  it  to 
you.  I  do  not  exactly  know  what  part  of 
Canada  it  is  dated  from,  but  the  place  lies 
some  hundreds  of  miles  northwest  of  where 
your  husband  is  likely  to  be.  Our  brother 
seems  to  be  going  on  in  a  very  prosperous 
way  there. 

On  Sunday  last  the  Doctor  showed  me  a 
letter  he  had  written  for  you.  It  appeared 
to  be  full  of  rational  advice,  in  all  of  which  I 
agree.  You  must  pluck  up  a  spirit,  my  good 
little  Jenny,  and  see  clearly  how  many  things 
you  yourself,  independent  of  all  other  per- 
sons, can  still  do.  You,  then,  can  either  act 
like  a  wise,  courageous  person  or  like  a  fool, 
between  which  two  ways  of  it  there  lies  still 
all  the  difference  in  the  world  for  you.  .  .  . 
I  assert,  and  believe  always,  that  no  person 
whatever  can  be  ruined  except  by  his  own 
consent,  by  his  own  act,  in  this  world. 
Your  little  bairn  will  get  to  walk,  then  you 
will  have  more  time  to  sit  to  some  kind  of 
employment.  This  will  be  your  first  consola- 
tion. 

I  know  not  whether  our  Mother  is  still 
with  you,  but  suppose  yes.  I  wrote  to  her  a 
very  hurried  scrawl  last  week.  Pray  take 
good  care  of  her  from  the  damp  and  cold.     I 


TO  MRS.   HANNING  117 

•will  write  to  her  again  before  long.  By 
Alick's  letter  of  yesterday  I  learn  that  the 
Doctor's  Book  for  her  is  safely  come  to  Ec- 
clefechan.  You  can  tell  her  farther  that  I 
have  now  settled  finally  about  her  Luther 
and  it  is  hers.  The  cost  was  only  some  26 
shillings  instead  of  28. 

Jane  has  again  over-hauled  the  drawers 
which  you  had  such  work  with ;  the  best 
plan  was  found  to  be  to  clip  the  leg  off  alto- 
gether and  put  in  four  new  inches  above  the 
knee  !  Good  be  with  you,  dear  Jenny,  with 
you,  and  them  all. 

It  is  evident  from  one  letter  and  another 
that,  after  the  removal  to  Dumfries  and  Mr. 
Hanning's  departure  for  Canada,  Mrs.  Ban- 
ning spent  more  time  at  the  Gill  than  in 
Dumfries.  "  Poor  Helen  "  was  Helen  Mitch- 
ell from  Kirkcaldy,  an  entertaining  as  well 
as  a  faithful  servant.  She  came  to  Cheyne 
Row  toward  the  end  of  1837,  was  reclaimed 
from  drink  by  Mrs.  Carlyle,  but  fell  hope- 
lessly into  it  again  after  eleven  years  of  ser- 
vice. "  Her  end  was  sad,  and  like  a  thing 
of  fate." 


118  LETTERS  OF  CARLYLE 

XVII.    CARLYLE  TO   HIS   MOTHER,  SCOTSBRIG. 

Chelsea,  8th  January,  1842. 

My  dear  Mother,  —  You  have  been  wan- 
dering so  about  of  late  times,  and  there  has 
been  such  confused  trouble  going  on,  that  I 
have  not  got  you  regularly  written  to.  It 
seems  to  me  a  long  while  since  we  had  any 
right  communication  together.  To-day  I  will 
scribble  you  a  word  before  going  out.  Alick 
says  you  are  for  moving  over  to  Gill  again  to 
bear  Jenny  company  till  the  day  lengthens. 
If  you  be  already  gone  they  will  send  this 
after  you. 

The  great  trouble  there  has  been  at  Scots- 
brig  must  have  been  distressing  to  every  per- 
son there,  from  the  poor  father  and  mother 
downwards.  You,  in  particular,  could  not 
escape.  The  weather  also  is  sorely  inclement 
and  not  wholesome  for  those  that  cannot  take 
violent  exercise  ;  yet  Alick  assures  me  you 
are  "  as  well  as  usual."  Nay,  he  adds  that 
you  mean  soon  to  write  to  me.  I  pray  you 
take  care,  dear  Mother,  in  your  shifting  to 
the  Gill  and  during  your  stay  there  in  the 
stranger  house ;  it  is  bitter  weather  and  looks 
as  if  it  would  continue  long  frosty.  Tell  me 
especially   how   you   are,   what   clothes   you 


TO  HIS  MOTHER  119 

wear,  whether  you  get  good  fires.  A  warm 
bottle  is  indispensable  in  the  bed  at  night. 
You  have  books  to  read,  daily  little  bits  of 
work  to  do  ;  you  must  crouch  quiet  till  the 
sun  comes  out  again. 

A  considerable  noise  has  been  going  on 
about  that  little  Review-Article  of  mine  which 
I  sent  you.  The  last  page  of  the  Divine 
Right  of  Squires  has  been  circulating  widely 
through  the  Newspapers  with  various  com- 
mentary and  so  forth.  This  I  by  no  means 
grudge :  as  the  thing  is  true,  it  may  circulate 
as  widely  as  it  likes.  It  can  do  nothing  but 
good  (whether  pleasant  or  painful  good)  be- 
ing true,  —  let  it  circulate  where  it  will.  If 
a  word  of  mine  can  help  to  relieve  the  world 
from  an  insupportable  oppression,  surely  it 
shall  be  very  welcome  to  do  so !  The  man 
has  paid  me  for  this  "  article  "  (£24)  but  I 
think  I  shall  not  soon  trouble  the  world  again 
with  reviewing.  I  mean  something;  else  than 
that  if  I  could  get  at  it.  On  the  whole,  what 
with  Edinburgh  Professorships,  what  with 
Covenanter  Articles,  we  have  had  rather  a 
noisy  time  of  it  in  the  newspapers  for  a  while 
back.  It  is  not  unpleasant,  but  except  for 
aiding  the  sale  of  one's  books,  perhaps  it  is 
apt  to  be  unprofitable.    Fame  ?    Reputation  ? 


120  LETTERS  OF  CAELYLE 

&c,  as  old  Tom  White  said  of  the  whisky, 
"  Keep  your  whisky  to  yoursel'  !  deevil  o' 
ever  I  'se  better  than  when  there 's  no  a  drop 
on  't  i'  my  wame  ? ''  which  is  a  literal  truth, 
—  both  as  to  fame  and  whisky. 

My  new  book,  I  may  tell  you  now,  is  to 
be  something-  about  that  same  Civil  War  in 
England  which  Baillie  was  in  the  midst  of ; 
I  think  mainly  or  almost  exclusively  about 
Oliver  Cromwell.  I  am  struggling  sore  to 
get  some  hold  of  it,  but  the  business  will  be 
dreadfully  difficult,  far  worse  than  any  French 
Revolution,  if  I  am  to  do  it  right :  —  and  if 
I  do  not  do  it  right  what  is  the  use  of  doing 
it  at  all  ?  For  some  time  I  tried  actual  writ- 
ing at  it  lately,  but  found  it  was  too  soon 
yet.  I  must  wrestle  and  tumble  about  with 
it,  indeed  at  bottom  I  do  not  know  yet  whe- 
ther ever  I  shall  be  able  to  make  a  Book  out 
of  it !  All  that  I  can  do  is  to  try,  till  I  as- 
certain either  Yes  or  No.  For  the  rest  I  am 
grown  too  old  and  cunning  now  to  plunge 
right  on  and  attempt  conquering  the  thing 
by  sheer  force.  I  lie  back,  canny,  canny, 
and  whenever  I  find  my  sleep  beginning  to 
suffer,  I  lay  down  the  tools  for  a  while.  By 
Heaven's  great  blessing  I  am  not  now  urged 
on  by  direct  need  of  money.     We  have  ar- 


TO  HIS    MOTHER  121 

ranged  ourselves  here  in  what  to  London 
people  is  an  inconceivable  state  of  thrift,  and 
in  our  small  way  are  not  now  tormented  with 
any  fear  of  want  whatever,  for  the  present. 
To  myself  my  poverty  is  really  quite  a  suit- 
able, almost  comfortable,  arrangement.  I 
often  think  what  should  I  do  if  I  were 
wealthy  !  I  am  perhaps  among  the  freest 
men  in  the  British  Empire  at  this  moment. 
No  King  or  Pontiff  has  any  power  over  me, 
gets  any  revenue  from  me,  except  what  he 
may  deserve  at  my  hands.  There  is  nothing 
but  my  Maker  whom  I  call  Master  under  this 
sky.  What  would  I  be  at?  George  Fox 
was  hardly  freer  in  his  suit  of  leather  than  I 
here:  if  to  be  sure  not  carrying  it  quite  so 
far  as  the  leather.  Jane,  too,  is  quite  of  my 
way  of  thinking  in  this  respect.  Truly  we 
have  been  mercifully  dealt  with,  and  much 
that  looked  like  evil  has  turned  to  be  good. 
One  thing  I  must  tell  you  as  a  small  adven- 
ture which  befell,  the  day  before  yesterday. 
On  going  out  for  walking  along  one  of  these 
streets  an  elderly,  innocent,  intelligent-look- 
ing gentleman  accosted  me  with  "  Apologies 
for  introducing  himself  to  Mr.  Carlyle  whose 
works  &c,  &c.  He  was  the  Parish  clergy- 
man,"  rector  of  the  Parish   of  St.   Luke's, 


122  LETTERS  OF  CAELYLE 

Chelsea  !  I  replied  of  course  with  all  civility 
to  the  worthy  man  (though  shocked  to  admit 
that  after  seven  years  of  parishionership  I 
did  not  know  the  face  of  him).  We  walked 
together  as  far  as  our  roads  would  coincide, 
then  parted  with  low  bows.  I  mean  to  ask 
about  the  man  (whose  name  I  do  not  even 
know  yet !)  and,  if  the  accounts  be  good,  to 
invite  a  nearer  approximation. 

Jack  will  be  with  us  to-morrow  evening, 
we  expect ;  oftenest  we  see  him  only  that 
once  in  the  course  of  a  week.  He  is  healthy, 
cheery  and  as  full  of  talk  and  activity  as  I 
ever  saw  him.  His  Patient  and  he  walk 
daily,  or  drive,  or  ride  several  hours,  which  is 
a  good  encourager  of  health.  He  seems  like- 
lier than  ever  to  stay  a  good  while  in  this 
present  situation,  to  realize  a  good  purse  per- 
haps, —  and  then  retire  as  a  half-pay.  Jane 
sticks  close  in  the  house  ever  since  the  frost 
began,  for  near  a  week  now ;  she  is  in  very 
tolerable  health.  Poor  Helen,  our  servant, 
heard  the  other  night  of  the  death  of  a  poor 
sick  (asthmatic)  sister  at  Edinburgh,  which 
grieved  her  to  the  ground  for  a  while  and 
still  greatly  afflicts  her ;  we  are  sorry  for  the 
poor  creature. 

Alick's  long  letter,  you  can  tell  him,  shall 


DEATH  OF  MRS.    WELSH  123 

be  answered  by  and  by.  I  bad  also  a  letter 
from  Jean  not  many  days  ago.  I  have  ex- 
tremely little  time  for  writing  letters.  You 
must  all  be  patient  with  me.  Commend  me 
to  poor  Isabella,  whose  affliction  we  deeply 
sympathize  with.  Yours  affectionately. 

On  February  26th  Mrs.  Welsh  died  at 
Templand,  in  Nithsdale,  where  she  had  lived 
since  her  daughter's  marriage.  Carlvle  had 
now  to  pass  two  months  and  more  at  Temp- 
land  in  the  settlement  of  affairs.  By  the 
death  of  her  mother  Mrs.  Carlyle  regained 
possession  of  Craigenputtock,  the  rent  of 
which,  £200  a  year,  she  had  settled  on  Mrs. 
Welsh  for  her  life.  "  Thus,  from  this  date 
onward,"  notes  Carlyle  in  the  Reminiscences, 
"  we  were  a  little  richer,  easier  in  circum- 
stances;  and  the  pinch  of  Poverty,  which 
had  been  relaxing  latterly,  changed  itself 
into  a  gentle  pressure,  or  into  a  limit  and 
little  more.  We  did  not  change  our  habits 
in  any  point,  but  the  grim  collar  round  my 
neck  was  sensibly  slackened.  Slackened,  not 
removed  at  all,  —  for  almost  twenty  years 
yet.  ...  I  do  not  think  my  literary  income 
was  above  £200  a  year  in  those  decades, — in 
spite  of  my  continual  diligence  day  by  day." 


124  LETTERS   OF  CARLYLE 

The  "  cheery  little  cousin  ';  was  Miss  Jean- 
nie  Welsh,  daughter  to  John  Welsh  of  Liver- 
pool, before  mentioned,  and  mentioned  again 
in  the  last  paragraph  of  the  following  letter. 

XVIII.     CARLYLE    TO    HIS    MOTHER,    SCOTSBRIG. 

Chelsea,  Friday,  4th  June,  1842. 

My  dear  Mother,  —  A  letter  from  Jenny 
came  in  the  beginning  of  the  week ;  then 
last  night  another  from  her  for  Jack,  which 
seemed  to  have  been  written  at  the  same 
time,  which  also  I  opened  as  it  passed,  —  for- 
warding them  both  thereupon  to  Jack.  Jack's 
address  is  3  Chester  Terrace,  Regent's  Park. 
Tell  Jenny  to  copy  this,  and  then  she  will 
know  it  henceforth.  You  must  also  thank 
her  very  kindly  for  the  word  she  sends  me 
about  you  and  about  the  rest.  I  find  your 
eyes  are  still  sore,  and  I  doubt  this  hot  wea- 
ther will  do  them  no  good.  Perhaps  keeping 
out  of  the  light  as  much  as  possible  might  be 
useful.  I  would  also  recommend  to  abstain 
from  rubbing  as  much  as  you  can.  If  Jack 
know  any  likely  eye  water,  I  will  make  him 
send  a  receipt  for  it.  This  is  a  very  trouble- 
some kind  of  thing  :  — but  surely  we  ought 
to  be  thankful  that  it  is  not  a  worse  thing 
too  ! 


TO  HIS  MOTHER  125 

Jack  was  away  in  the  country  last  week, 
but  is  come  home  again.  He  was  down  here 
on  Wednesday  night  to  tea,  as  fresh  and 
hearty  as  ever.  They  are  to  be  in  London 
mainly,  I  believe,  all  summer.  He  will  con- 
trive plenty  of  "  jaunts  "  &c,  I  suppose.  It 
is,  as  formerly,  an  idle  trade,  but  a  very  well 
paid  one.  It  was  precisely  on  that  Wednes- 
day that  the  Queen  had  been  shot  at.  These 
are  bad  times  for  Kings  and  Queens.  This 
young  blackguard,  it  seems,  is  not  mad  at  all ; 
was  in  great  want,  and  so  forth ;  it  is  said 
they  will  hang  him.  Such  facts  indicate  that 
even  among  the  lowest  classes  of  the  people, 
Queenship  and  Kingship  are  fast  growing 
out  of  date. 

My  poor  wife  is  still  very  disconsolate, 
silent,  pale,  broken-down,  and  very  weak.  I 
urge  her  out  as  much  as  possible  ;  her  cheery 
little  cousin,  too,  does  what  she  can.  Alas, 
it  is  a  very  sore  affliction  ;  we  have  but  one 
mother  to  lose.  I  speak  to  her  seriously 
sometimes,  but  speaking  cannot  heal  grief ; 
only  Time  and  Heaven's  mercy  can. 

As  for  me,  I  sleep  tolerably  well,  and  also 
have  now  begun  to  work  a  little,  which  is 
still  better !  I  shall  have  a  terrible  heap  of 
reading,  of  meditating,  sorting,  struggling  of 


126  LETTERS   OF  CABLYLE 

every  kind.  But  why  should  I  not  do  it,  i£ 
it  be  a  good  WOrk  ?  I  feel  as  if  there  did 
lie  something  in  it.  I  will  grudge  no  toil 
to  bring  it  out.  I  go  often  all  day  to  the 
Museum  Library  and  search  innumerable  old 
pamphlets,  &c.  It  is  a  nasty  place,  five  miles 
off,  and  full  of  heat  and  bad  air,  but  it  con- 
tains great  quantities  of  information.  I  re- 
fuse all  dinners  whatsoever,  or  very  nearly 
all.  I  say,  "  Well,  if  you  do  take  offence  at 
me,  how  can  I  help  it  ?  In  the  whole  world 
there  is  only  one  true  blessing  for  me,  —  that 
of  working  an  honest  work.  If  you  would 
give  me  the  Bank  of  England,  and  all  set  to 
worship  me  with  bended  knees,  —  alas,  that 
would  do  nothing  for  me  at  all.  It  is  not 
you  that  can  help  me  or  hinder  me  ;  it  is  I, 
even  I."  Pray  that  I  persist  in  this  good 
course. 

Poor  Isabella  does  not  seem  to  profit  by 
the  warm  weather.  I  would  recommend  the 
shower  bath  to  her.  I  take  it  daily  here. 
Tell  Jenny  that  there  is  no  hurry  about  the 
shirts.  She  can  go  on  with  all  leisure.  Did 
Jamie  ever  learn  from  me  that  in  the  drawer 
of  their  washstand,  if  he  will  pull  it  out, 
there  lies  for  him  a  little  piece  of  new  stuff 
for  rubbing  on   his   razor   strop  ?     I   always 


TO  HIS  MOTHER  127 

forgot  to  mention  it.  Our  weather  here  is 
excellent,  threatening  to  be  too  hot  by  and 
by,  which,  however,  I  shall  not  grudge  so 
much  this  year.  Broiling  weather  to  me  will 
be  the  basis  of  a  plenteous  year  for  all. 
There  is  much  need  of  it ! 

But  I  must  end,  dear  Mother.  I  write 
hardly  any  letters  except  to  you,  so  you  will 
accept  this  as  the  best  I  can  do  at  present. 
The  subscription  for  Burns's  sister  is  doing 
well,  in  Liverpool  at  least  (under  John 
Welsh).  My  affection  to  Alick  and  all  of 
them.  You  will  get  this  when  you  go  to  the 
Preaching. 

My  blessings  on  you,  dear  Mother,  and  all 
love. 

Your  son, 

Tom. 

XIX.     CARLYLE   TO   HIS   MOTHER,    SCOTSBRIG. 

Chelsea,  Monday  Morning, 
<lth  July,  1842. 

My  dear  Mother,  —  Before  setting  to 
my  work,  let  me  expend  a  penny  and  a  scrap 
of  paper  on  you,  merely  to  say  that  we  are 
well,  and  to  send  a  bit  of  ugly  and  curious 
public  news  that  you  cannot  yet  have  heard 
of.     On  Saturday  night  it  was  publicly  made 


128  S   OF  CARLTLE 

known  that  Francis,  the  man  "who  last  shot  at 
tlie  Queen,  was  nor  to  be  ged3  but  to  be 
sent  to  P  :  .. /.  Bay,  i  some  such  punish- 
ment.    Weflj  yesterday  about    noon,  as  the 

)  teen  went  to  St.  James'  Chapel,  a  third 
individual  presented  his  pistol  at  the  Majesty 
of        „        .  but  was  struck  iown  and  se: 

e  he  could  tire  it :  he  and  another  who 

-     med  to  be  in  concert  with  him  are  both 

There    is   no   doubt   of   the   fact. 

.  .  -.    :  ■         re  both  "  yoimg;  "  men  ;  we  have 

...    rd  nothing  more  of  them  than  that. 

The  ■  erson  who  struck  down  the  pistol  (and 

with  it  the  man.  so  vehement  was  he    is  said 

to  be  a  gentleman's  nY.  ;    but  I  do  not 

know  that  for  certain  and  hive  seen  no  news- 

r:  ye:.   .   .   .  Are  n   fc  th  »  strange  times? 

The  people  are   -         £  their  misgovernment, 

and  the  blackiraax  is      ._  them  shoot  at  the 

poor  Queen  :  as  a  man  that  wanted  the  steeple 

pulled  down  might  at  least  thug  a  stone  at 

gilt  weathercock.     The  poor  little  Queen 

has  a  horrid  b;>       ss  of  it.  —  cannot  take  a 

drive    in  hzk  clatch  without    risk   of    beincr 

t  clatch  is  much  safer.     All  men 

becoming    alarm*  I    at   the    state  of   the 

antry. —  as  I  think  they  well  may. 

Jane    and    her   cousin   have   this  niornincr 


TO  MRS.  IIASXIXG  129 

been  got  off   to  Windsor  by  the  Sterlings. 

The  jaunt  in  the  open   air  will  do  the  poor 

Wifie  good. 

John  is  very  wefl.  I  parted  with  him  last 
night  near  his  own  house  rather  after  10 
o'clock. 

Adieu,  dear    Mother.     Here    is    a    foolish 
Yankee  letter  of  adoration  to  me.     Burn  it  ! 
Your  affectionate, 

T.  Carlyle. 

The  picture  of  Sartor  measuring  himself 
for  shirts  to  be  made  at  long  range,  as  it 
were,  is  memorable  even  in  the  annals  of 
Cheyne  Row. 

XX.      CABLYLE    TO   MRS.    HABHIK6,    THE    GILL. 

Chelsea,  21  July,  1842. 
My  dear  Jenny,  —  I  am  glad  to  hear  of 
your  well  being,  and  that  you  have  got  done 
with  the  shirts,  which  is  a  sign  of  your  indus- 
try. They  will  be  well  off  your  hands,  and 
I  have  no  doubt  will  be  found  very  suitable 
when  they  arrive  here.  In  the  meanwhile  I 
do  not  want  them  sent  off  vet  till  there  are 
some  more  things  to  go  with  them.  I  am  in 
no  want  of  them  yet,  and  shall  not,  I  think, 
be  so  till  it  will  be  about  time  for  the  meal 


130  LETTERS  OF  CARLYLE 

to  be  sent  from  Scotsbrig.  At  all  events, 
you  may  look  to  that  (for  the  present)  as  the 
■way  of  sending  them,  and  therefore  keep 
them  beside  you  till  some  chance  of  deliver- 
ing them  safe  to  my  Mother  or  another  Scots- 
brig  party  turn  up.  There  is  no  haste  about 
them ;  the  meal  cannot  be  ready,  I  suppose, 
till  the  end  of  September,  if  then. 

In  the  meanwhile  I  want  you  to  make 
me  some  flannel  things,  too,  —  three  flannel 
shirts  especially :  you  can  get  the  flannel 
from  Alick,  if  he  have  any  that  he  can  well 
recommend.  You  can  readily  have  them 
made  before  the  other  shirts  go  off :  I  have 
taken  the  measure  to-day,  and  now  send  you 
the  dimensions,  together  with  a  measuring 
strap  which  I  bought  some  weeks  ago  (at  one 
penny)  for  the  purpose  !  You  are  to  be  care- 
ful to  scour  the  flannel  first,  after  which 
process  the  dimensions  are  these.  Width 
(when  the  shirt  is  laid  on  its  back)  22^ 
inches,  extent  from  torist  button  to  wrist 
button  61  inches,1  length  in  the  back  35 
inches,  length  in  the  front  25|  inches.  Do 
you  understand  all  that?  I  dare  say  you 
will  make  it  out,  and  this  measuring  band 
will  enable  you  to  be  exact    enough.     Only 

1  So  that  each  sleeve  is  19£  inches  long. 


TO  MRS.  HANNING  131 

you  must  observe  that  at  the  beginning  of  it. 
.  .  .  Hoity-Toity  !  I  find  that  it  is  I  myself 
that  have  made  a  mistake  there,  and  that  you 
have  only  to  measure  fair  with  the  line  and 
all  will  be  right;  the  dimensions  as  above, 
22},  61,  35,  25J. 

If  you  could  make  me  two  pairs  of  flannel 
drawers,  I  should  like  very  well  too,  but 
that  I  am  afraid  will  be  too  hard  for  you. 
This  is  all  the  express  work  I  have  for  you 
at  present.  Neither  is  there  any  news  of 
much  moment  that  I  could  send  you.  Jane 
continues  still  weak,  but  seems  to  gather 
strength,  too.  I  keep  very  quiet  and  very 
busy,  and  stand  the  summer  fully  better  than 
is  usual  with  me  here.  John  still  continues 
in  town,  and  does  not  speak  of  going  yet. 
We  meet  every  Sunday  here  at  Dinner. 

Our  good  Mother,  you  perhaps  know,  has 
got  over  to  Jean  for  some  sea  bathing  about 
Arbigland.  We  hope  they  are  all  well  about 
Gill,  and  that  a  good  crop  is  on  its  feet  for 
them.  Give  our  kind  regards  and  continual 
good  wishes  both  to  Mary  and  Jamie,  and  ac- 
cept them  for  yourself.  Next  time  you  write 
you  had  better  tell  me  how  your  money 
stands  out ;  and  if  at  any  time,  my  dear  little 
Sister,  I  can  help  you  in  anything,  be  sure 


132  LETTERS  OF  CARLYLE 

do  not  neglect  to  write  then.     Our  love  and 
best  wishes  to  you,  dear  Jenny. 

Your  affectionate  brother, 

T.  Carlyle. 

In  May,  on  his  way  back  from  Temp- 
land,  Carlyle  had  stopped  to  visit  Dr.  Arnold 
at  Rugby,  and  in  August  he  went  to  Bel- 
gium with  Mr.  Stephen  Spring  Rice  and 
his  younger  brother.  Of  this  trip  Carlyle 
wrote  an  extraordinarily  vivid  account  under 
title  of  The  Shortest  Tour  on  Record.  The 
picture  of  the  poor  lace-maker  and  her  habi- 
tation, at  Ghent,  makes  one  think,  by  a 
queer,  austere  contrary,  of  an  earlier  traveler 
and  his  adventures. 

In  August,  also,  Mrs.  Carlyle  had  gone  to 
the  Bullers',  in  Suffolk.  Twenty  capital 
pages  of  Letters  and  Memorials  make  her 
visit  live  again. 

XXI.     CARLYLE  TO  HIS  MOTHER,  SCOTSBRIG. 

Cambridge,  1th  Sep.,  1842. 

My  dear  Mother,  —  I  am  sitting  here  in 
the  "  Hoop  Inn  "  of  Cambridge,  in  a  spa- 
cious apartment,  blazing  with  gaslight  and 
nearly  solitary.  It  strikes  me  I  may  as  well 
employ  the  hour  before  bedtime  in  writing  a 


TO  HIS  MOTHER  133 

word  for  my  good  Mother,  —  to  explain  to 
her  how  I  am,  and  above  all  what  in  the 
world  I  am  doing  here  !  There  is  a  magnifi- 
cent thunderstorm  just  going  on,  or  rather 
beginning  to  pass  off  in  copious  floods  of 
rain,  and  there  is  no  other  sound  audible  in 
this  room ;  one  single  fellow-traveller  lies 
reading  the  Times  Newspaper  on  the  sofa 
opposite,  and  the  rain  quenches  even  the 
sound  of  his  breath. 

Well,  dear  Mother,  you  heard  that  Jane 
was  gone  into  Suffolk  to  Mrs.  Buller's,  and 
perhaps  you  understand  or  guess  that  she 
continues  still  there  ;  nay,  perhaps  Jack  may 
have  informed  you  that  on  Thursday  last  (a 
week  ago  all  but  a  day)  I,  after  long  hig- 
gling, set  out  to  bring  her  home.  Home, 
however,  she  was  not  to  go  quite  so  fast. 
Mrs.  Buller,  rather  lively  up  in  that  region, 
wanted  her  to  stay  a  little  longer,  wanted  me 
also,  I  suppose,  to  go  flaunting  about,  calling 
on  Lady  this  and  Sir  Henry  that,  and  lioniz- 
ing and  amusing  myself  as  I  best  might  in 
her  neighbourhood.  She  is  very  kind  in- 
deed,—  more  hospitable  and  good  than  I 
have  almost  ever  seen  her  to  anybody.  The 
place  Troston  is  a  quiet,  sleek,  green  place,  so 
intersected  with  green,  wide  lanes  (loanings) 


134  LETTERS  OF  CABLYLE 

all  overgrown  with  trees  that  you  can  hardly 
find  your  way  in  it,  —  like  walking  in  some 
coal-mine  in  paths  underground;  it  or  any 
green  country  whatever,  as  you  know,  is 
likely  to  be  welcome  to  me.  One  day  I 
walked  off  to  a  place  called  Thetford  in 
Norfolk,  about  8  miles  from  us.  It  was  the 
morrow  after  my  arrival,  and  I  did  not  know 
the  nature  of  the  lanes  then.  I  lost  my  way 
both  going  and  coming,  and  made  the  dis- 
tance 12  or  13  each  way,  but  got  home  in 
time  to  dinner,  and  was  all  the  better  for  my 
walk.  Afterwards  I  never  ventured  out  of 
sight  of  Troston  Church-tower  without  first 
drawing  for  myself  a  little  map  of  my  route 
from  a  big  map  that  hangs  in  the  lobby. 
With  my  little  map  in  my  waistcoat  pocket 
I  feared  nothing,  and  indeed  in  three  days 
knew  all  the  outs  and  ins  of  the  country ;  — 
for  Mrs.  Buller  in  that  interval  had  contrived 
to  borrow  me  a  farmer's  horse  to  go  about 
on.  Was  not  that  a  friendly  office  to  a  man 
like  me  ? 

But  to  hasten  to  the  point !  Mrs.  Buller' s, 
I  knew  beforehand,  was  but  some  30  miles  to 
the  east  of  Cromwell's  country  ;  his  birth- 
place, the  farm  he  had  first,  and  the  farm  he 
had  second,  all   lie   adjoining  on  the  West- 


TO  HIS  MOTHER  135 

ward,  either  in  the  next  County,  which  is  this 
(Cambridgeshire),  or  in  Huntingdonshire,  the 
one  Westward  of  this.  Accordingly,  having 
talked  a  long  enough  time  about  jaunts  and 
pilgrimages,  —  about  it  and  about  it,  —  I  de- 
cided at  last  (the  women  threatening  to  laugh 
at  me  if  I  did  not  go)  on  actually  setting 
off,  and  accordingly  here  I  am,  with  my  face 
already  homewards,  the  main  part  of  my  little 
errand  successfully  accomplished ;  and  a  "  rid- 
ing tour  "  through  the  country  parts  of  Eng- 
land, which  I  have  been  talking  of  these 
dozen  years  or  more,  has  actually  taken  effect 
on  the  small  scale,  —  a  very  small  scale  in- 
deed. I  have  ridden  but  two  days,  and  on 
the  morrow  evening  I  shall  be  at  Troston 
again,  or  near  it.  My  conveyance  being  the 
farmer's  horse  above  mentioned,  my  fatigue 
has  been  great ;  —  for  it  is  the  roughest  and 
dourest  beast  nearly  that  I  ever  rode,  and  to- 
day in  the  morning,  to  mend  matters,  it  took 
to  the  trick  they  call  "  scouring,"  —  in  a  sul- 
len, windless  ninny  niawing.  —  Many  a  time 
I  thought  of  Alick  and  Jamie  in  these  Cam- 
bridge  Fens,  and  wished  one  or  both  of  them 
had  been  near  me.  But  I  let  the  creature 
take  time  (for  it  would  have  it),  and  it  grad- 
ually recruited  again,  though  not  brilliant  at 


136  LETTERS  OF  CARLYLE 

the  best ;  and  indeed  I  shall  be  very  willing 
to  wish  it  good-bye  to-morrow  evening,  were 
I  at  Troston  again.  Poor  brute,  it  cannot 
help  being  supple  and  riding  as  with  stilky- 
clo2"s  at  its  feet !  It  has  eaten  four  and  a 
half  feeds  of  corn  to-day,  or  I  think  it  would 
altogether  have  failed. 

But  at  any  rate  I  have  seen  the  Cromwell 
country,  got  an  image  of  it  in  my  mind  for 
all  time  henceforth.  I  was  last  night  at  Ely, 
the  Bishop's  City  of  this  district.  I  walked 
in  and  about  the  Cathedral  for  two  good 
hours.  Thought  vividly  of  Cromwell  step- 
ping up  these  floors,  with  his  sword  by  his 
side,  bidding  the  Priest  (who  would  not  obey 
his^rs^  order,  but  continued  reading  his  lit- 
urgies), "  Cease  your  fooling  and  come  out, 
Sir."  —  One  can  fancy  with  what  a  gollie  in 
the  voice  of  him.  I  found  the  very  house 
he  had  lived  in.  I  sat  and  smoked  a  pipe 
about  nine  o'clock  under  the  stars  on  the 
very  "Horseblock"  (harjring-on  stone)  which 
Oliver  had  often  mounted  from,  two  hundred 
years  ago.  It  was  all  full  of  interest,  and 
though  I  could  get  but  very  little  sleep  at 
night,  I  did  not  grudge  that  price.  To-day 
I  rode  still  farther  Westward  to  a  place  called 
St.  Ives,  where  Oliver  first  took  to  farming. 


TO  HIS  MOTHER  137 

The  house  they  showed  as  his  I  did  not  be- 
lieve in,  but  the  fields  that  he  tilled  and 
reaped  are  veritably  there.  I  sat  down  under 
the  shade  of  one  of  his  hedges  and  kindled  a 
cigar,  not  without  reflections !  I  have  also 
seen  his  native  town  Huntingdon,  with  many 
other  things  to-day,  and  am  here  now  on  my 
way  homeward,  as  I  said,  and  will  not  trouble 
my  dear  good  Mother  with  one  other  word  of 
babblement  on  the  subject  at  present.  No 
country  in  itself  can  well  be  uglier  ;  it  is  all 
a  drained  immensity  of  fen  (or  soft  peat 
moss),  and  bears  a  considerable  resemblance 
to  the  trench  at  Dumfries,  —  if  that  were 
some  30  or  40  miles  square,  with  Parish 
churches  innumerable,  all  built  on  dry  knolls 
of  chalky  earth  that  rise  up  like  islands. 
You  can  tell  Jamie  that  it  bears  heavy  crops ! 
oats,  beans,  wheat,  which  they  are  just  con- 
cluding the  leading  in  of  at  present ;  the  rest 
of  the  country  being  done  a  week  or  two 
ago. 

Dear  Mother,  was  there  ever  such  a  clatter 
of  a  letter  written  ?  And  not  one  word  of 
news,  not  one  word  even  of  the  many  hun- 
dred I  could  use  in  inquiring  !  We  return  to 
Chelsea,  I  expect,  about  Monday  first.  Sat- 
urday was  to  be  proposed,  but  will  not  stand 


138  LETTERS   OF  CARLYLE 

I  believe.  Jack  is  already  gone,  on  Satur- 
day last,  to  Cheltenham,  and  then  for  North 
Wales.  Right  glad  am  I  for  him  and  for 
you  that  he  is  to  come  into  Annandale  for  a 
little  while.  Poor  fellow,  it  is  long  since  he 
has  been  there,  and  he  too  has  his  own  feel- 
ings and  straits  which  he  does  not  speak 
about  often.  My  dear  Mother,  I  will  bid  you 
all  good-night.  I  send  you  my  heart's  best 
blessing  o'er  all  the  hills  and  rivers  that  lie 
between  us  to-night.  The  thunder  is  gone, 
and  the  rain.  I  will  send  you  a  little  word 
when  we  get  to  Chelsea ;  perhaps  there  is 
something  from  yourself  for  me  already  for- 
warded to  Troston.  I  doubt  it.  Good-night, 
my  dear  true  Mother. 

Ever  your  affect? 

T.  Carlyle. 

I  know  not  whether  Alick  has  now  any 
communication  with  the  Whitehaven  Tobac- 
conist ?  A  quarter  of  a  stone  might  be  ven- 
tured upon  along  with  the  Harvest  meal,  or 
by  the  Doctor  or  some  other  conveyance.  It 
keeps  in  the  winter;  it  could  not  be  worse 
than  my  London  tobacco  all  this  year.  Tell 
Alick  about  it ;  he  rejoices  always  to  help 
me  whenever  he  can. 


THE  BATTLEFIELD  AT  NASEBY  139 

Carlyle's  pilgrimage  to  Huntingdon,  St. 
Ives,  and  thereabouts,  is  not  to  be  con- 
founded with  his  former  Cromwell  journey 
—  to  Naseby  —  undertaken  a  few  months  be- 
fore, with  Dr.  Arnold.  Froude's  account  of 
Carlyle's  investigation  of  the  battlefield  was 
(necessarily)  so  incomplete  that  I  venture  to 
quote  here  two  highly  interesting  letters  from 
a  long  afterward  published  book,  —  Letters 
of  Edward  Fitzgerald.  Says  Fitzgerald,  in  a 
memorandum  on  the  subject :  — 

"  As  I  happened  to  know  the  Field  well,  — 
the  greater  part  of  it  then  belonging  to  my 
Family,  —  I  knew  that  Carlyle  and  Arnold 
had  been  mistaken  —  misled  in  part  by  an 
Obelisk  which  my  Father  had  set  up  as  on 
the  highest  Ground  of  the  Field,  but  which 
they  mistook  for  the  centre-ground  of  the 
Battle.  This  I  told  Carlyle,  who  was  very 
reluctant  to  believe  that  he  and  Arnold  could 
have  been  deceived  —  that  he  could  accept 
no  hearsay  Tradition  or  Theory  against  the 
Evidence  of  his  own  Eyes,  etc.  However,  as 
I  was  just  then  going  down  to  Naseby,  I 
might  enquire  further  into  the  matter. 

"  On  arriving  at  Naseby,  I  had  spade  and 
mattock  taken  to  a  hill  near  half  a  mile 
across   from   the    '  Blockhead    Obelisk/   and 


140  LETTERS   OF  CARLYLE 

pitted  with  several  hollows,  overgrown  with 
rank  Vegetation,  which  Tradition  had  always 
pointed  to  as  the  Graves  of  the  Slain.  One 
of  these  I  had  opened ;  and  there,  sure 
enough,  were  the  remains  of  skeletons  closely 
packed  together  —  chiefly  teeth  —  but  some 
remains  of  Shin-bone,  and  marks  of  Skull  in 
the  Clay.  Some  of  these,  together  with  some 
sketches  of  the  Place,  I  sent  to  Carlyle." 

Fitzgerald,  in  a  letter  which  has  apparently 
not  been  preserved,  sent  the  results  of  this 
first  investigation  to  Carlyle.  He  wrote  also 
from  Naseby  the  following  letter  to  Bernard 
Barton  :  — 

[Naseby],  Septr.  22,  /42. 

My  dear  Barton,  —  The  pictures  are 
left  all  ready  packed  up  in  Portland  Place, 
and  shall  come  down  with  me,  whenever 
that  desirable  event  takes  place.  In  the 
meanwhile  here  I  am  as  before ;  but  having 
received  a  long  and  interesting  letter  from 
Carlyle  asking  information  about  this  Battle 
field,  I  have  trotted  about  rather  more  to 
ascertain  names  of  places,  positions,  etc. 
After  all,  he  will  make  a  mad  book.  I  have 
just  seen  some  of  the  bones  of  a  dragoon  and 
his  horse  who  were  found  foundered  in  a 
morass  in    the   field  —  poor    dragoon,  much 


THE  BATTLEFIELD  AT  NASEBY  141 

dismembered  by  time :  his  less  worthy  mem- 
bers, having  been  left  in  the  owner's  summer- 
house  for  the  last  twenty  years,  have  disap- 
peared one  by  one,  but  his  skull  is  kept  safe 
in  the  hall :  not  a  bad  skull  neither  ;  and  in 
it  some  teeth  yet  holding,  and  a  bit  of  the 
iron  heel  of  his  boot,  put  into  the  skull  by 
way  of  convenience.  This  is  what  Sir  Thomas 
Browne  calls  "  making  a  man  act  his  Anti- 
podes." *  I  have  got  a  fellow  to  dig  at  one 
of  the  great  general  graves  in  the  field  ;  and 
he  tells  me  to-night  that  he  has  come  to 
bones  ;  to-morrow  I  will  select  a  neat  speci- 
men or  two.  In  the  meantime  let  the  full 
harvest  moon  wonder  at  them  as  they  lie 
turned  up  after  lying  hid  2400  revolutions 
of  hers.  Think  of  that  warm  14th  of  June 
when  the  Battle  was  fought,  and  they  fell 
pell-mell :  and  then  the  country  people  came 
and  buried  them  so  shallow  that  the  stench 
was  terrible,  and  the  putrid  matter  oozed 
over  the  ground  for  several  yards ;  so  that 
the  cattle  were  observed  to  eat  those  places 
very  close  for  some  years  after.     Every  one 

1  Referring  to  a  passage  in  the  Garden  of  Cyrus,  near  the 
end  :  "  To  keep  our  eyes  open  longer,  were  but  to  act  our 
antipodes.  The  huntsmen  are  up  in  America,  and  they  are 
already  past  their  first  sleep  in  Persia." 


142  LETTERS   OF  CABLYLE 

to  his  taste,  as  one  might  well  say  to  any 
woman  who  kissed  the  cow  that  pastured 
there. 

Friday,  23)*d.  We  have  dug  at  a  place, 
as  I  said,  and  made  such  a  trench  as  would 
hold  a  dozen  fellows,  whose  remains  positively 
make  up  the  mould.  The  bones  nearly  all 
rotted  away,  except  the  teeth,  which  are  quite 
good.  At  the  bottom  lay  the  form  of  a  per- 
fect skeleton  :  most  of  the  bones  gone,  but 
the  pressure  distinct  in  the  clay ;  the  thigh 
and  leg  bones  yet  extant ;  the  skull  a  little 
pushed  forward,  as  if  there  were  scanty  room. 
We  also  tried  some  other  reputed  graves,  but 
found  nothing ;  indeed,  it  is  not  easy  to  dis- 
tinguish what  are  graves  from  old  marlpits, 
etc.  I  don't  care  for  all  this  bone-rummaging 
myself;  but  the  identification  of  the  graves 
identifies  also  where  the  greatest  heat  of  the 
battle  was.     Do  you  wish  for  a  tooth  ? 

As  I  began  this  antiquarian  account  in  a 
letter  to  you,  so  I  have  finished  it,  that  you 
may  mention  it  to  my  Papa,  who  perhaps  will 
be  amused  at  it.  Two  farmers  insisted  on 
going  out  exploring  with  me  all  day :  one  a 
very  solid  fellow,  who  talks  like  the  justices 
in  Shakespeare,  but  who  certainly  was  in- 
spired in  finding  out  this  grave ;  the  other  a 


TO  EDWARD  FITZGERALD  143 

Scotchman,  full  of  intelligence,  who  proposed 
the  flesh-soil  for  manure  for  turnips.  The 
old  Vicar,  whose  age  reaches  halfway  back 
to  the  day  of  the  Battle,  stood  tottering  over 
the  verge  of  the  trench.  Carlyle  has  shewn 
great  sagacity  in  guessing  at  the  localities 
from  the  vague  descriptions  of  contempora- 
ries ;  and  his  short  pasticcio  of  the  battle  is 
the  best  I  have  seen.  But  he  will  spoil  all 
by  making  a  demigod  of  Cromwell,  who  cer- 
tainly was  so  far  from  wise  that  he  brought 
about  the  very  thing  he  fought  to  prevent,  — 
the  restoration  of  an  unrestricted  monarchy. 

The  substance  of  this  letter  was  of  course 
communicated  by  Fitzgerald  to  Carlyle,  who 
promptly  and  gratefully  replied. 

Chelsea,  Saturday,  25  [24]  Septr.  1842. 

My  dear  Sir,  —  You  will  do  me  and  the 
Genius  of  History  a  real  favour,  if  you  per- 
sist in  these  examinations  and  excavations  to 
the  utmost  length  possible  for  you  !  It  is 
Ion  a-  since  I  read  a  letter  so  interesting  as 
yours  of  yesterday.  Clearly  enough  you  are 
upon  the  very  battle-ground  ;  —  and  I,  it  is 
also  clear,  have  only  looked  up  towards  it 
from  the  slope  of  Mill  Hill.     "Were  not  the 


144  LETTERS  OF  CARLYLE 

weather  so  wet,  were  not,  etc.,  etc.,  so  many 
etceteras,  I  could  almost  think  of  running*  up 
to  join  you  still !  But  that  is  evidently  un- 
feasible at  present. 

The  opening  of  that  burial -heap  blazes 
strangely  in  my  thoughts  :  these  are  the  very 
jawbones  that  were  clenched  together  in 
deadly  rage,  on  this  very  ground,  197  years 
asfo  !  It  brings  the  matter  home  to  one, 
with  a  strange  veracity,  —  as  if  for  the  first 
time  one  saw  it  to  be  no  fable  and  theory, 
but  a  dire  fact.  I  will  beg  for  a  tooth  and  a 
bullet ;  authenticated  by  your  own  eyes  and 
word  of  honour  !  Our  Scotch  friend,  too, 
making  turnip  manure  of  it,  —  he  is  part  of 
the  Picture.  I  understand  almost  all  the 
Netherlands  battlefields  have  already  given 
up  their  bones  to  British  husbandry ;  why 
not  the  old  English  next  ?  Honour  to  thrift. 
If  of  5000  wasted  men  you  can  make  a  few 
usable  turnips,  why,  do  it ! 

The  more  sketches  and  details  you  can 
contrive  to  send  me,  the  better.  I  want  to 
know,  for  one  thing,  whether  there  is  any 
house  on  Cloisterwell ;  what  house  that  was 
that  I  saw  from  the  slope  of  Naseby  height 
(Mill-hill,  I  suppose),  and  fancied  to  be  Dust 
Hill   Farm?     It   must   lie    about    North    by 


TO  EDWARD  FITZGERALD  145 

West  from  Naseby  Church,  perhaps  near  a 
mile  off.  You  say,  one  cannot  see  Dust  Hill 
at  all,  much  less  any  farm  house  of  Dust  Hill, 
from  that  Naseby  Height  ? 

But  why  does  the  Obelisk  stand  there? 
It  might  as  well  stand  at  Charing  Cross ;  the 
blockhead  that  it  is  !  I  again  wish  I  had 
wings  ;  alas,  I  wish  many  things ;  that  the 
gods  would  but  annihilate  Time  and  Space, 
which  would  include  all  things  ! 

In  great  haste,  Yours  most  truly, 

T.  Carlyle. 

Both  Carlyle's  letter  to  Fitzgerald  and 
that  to  his  mother  from  Cambridge  are  nota- 
ble illustrations  of  the  insatiable  hunger  of 
the  eye  which  went  far  to  make  him  the 
great  writer  he  was.  The  print  of  those 
teeth  on  his  mind  is  shown  in  Cromwell, 
where  we  read :  "  A  friend  of  mine  has  in 
his  cabinet  two  ancient  grinder-teeth,  dug 
lately  from  that  ground,  —  and  waits  for  an 
opportunity  to  rebury  them  there.  Sound, 
effectual  grinders,  one  of  them  very  large  ; 
which  ate  their  breakfast  on  the  fourteenth 
morning  of  June,  two  hundred  years  ago, 
and,  except  to  be  clenched  once  in  grim 
battle,  had  never  work  to  do  more  in  this 
world !  " 


146  LETTERS   OF  CARLYLE 

The  old  mother  was  not  ungrateful  for 
her  son's  mindfulness.  Nothing  in  their  re- 
lations is  more  touching  than  the  brevity  and 
stiffness  of  her  letters,  with  every  now  and 
then  some  burst  of  natural  affection  which 
even  the  artificial  medium  cannot  check. 
Margaret  Carlyle  had  learned  to  write  in 
adult  life  for  the  sake  of  replying  to  her 
son's  letters,  but  the  pen  never  became  an 
obedient  instrument  in  her  hand.  She  could 
always  have  sympathized  with  Joe  Gargery. 

XXII.       TO   CARLYLE    FROM    HIS   MOTHER. 

Scotsbrig,  Sept.  13,  1842. 

My  dear  Son, —  It  is  a  long  time  since 
you  had  a  word  from  me,  though  I  have  had 
many  kind  letters  from  you,  for  which  if  I 
am  not  thankful  enough,  I  am  glad.  I  am 
full  as  well  as  I  was  when  you  saw  me  last. 
I  am  reading  the  poem  on  "  Luther  "  and  I 
am  much  pleased  with  it.  I  wish  the  author 
Godspeed.  It  is  a  good  subject  and  well 
handled,  is  my  opinion  of  it.  I  had  a  letter 
from  John  yesterday,  he  thinks  he  will  see  us 
in  the  Course  of  a  month  or  so.  We  will  be 
glad  to  see  him  again  if  it  please  God.  We 
have  excellent  weather  here.  I  do  not  re- 
member such  a  summer  and  harvest.     Jamie 


MRS.   CAELYLE  TO  MRS.  HANNING        147 

had  a  good  crop  and  very  near  all  in  and  well 
got  up.  Isabel  is  still  poorly.  She  is  rather 
better  than  she  was  at  one  time.  How  are 
you  after  your  wanderings  ?  Write  as  soon 
as  you  can  and  tell  us  all  your  news. 

Ever  your  affectionate  Mother, 

M.  A.  C. 

XXIII.    TO   MRS.    HANNING,    AT   THE   GILL,    FROM   HER 

MOTHER. 

Scotsbrig,  Monday  [1840-1851]. 

My  dear  Jenny,  —  I  have  been  longing 
for  you  to  come  here  for  a  long  time.  I 
want  to  send  two  hams  on  to  London. 
Could  you  get  a  box  which  would  hold  the 
shirts  and  both  could  be  sent  at  the  same 
time.  If  you  have  not  sent  them  any,  bring 
them  over  as  soon  as  you  can,  and  come  soon. 
At  any  rate  bring  the  winter  things  that 
Jean  sent.  We  are  all  in  our  frail  way  of 
health.  Give  my  kindest  love  to  young  and 
old. 

Ever  your  old  mother, 

M.  A.  C. 

In  the  letter  subjoined,  Carry le  gives  his 
mother  the  conclusion  of  his  visit  to  the 
Bullers,  of   which  he   had  written  so   fully. 


148  LETTERS  OF  CARLYLE 

"  The  good  Mrs.  Strachey,"  sister  to  Mrs. 
Buller,  was  the  pious  widow  of  a  rich  exami- 
ner in  the  India  House.  Mr.  Strachey,  eigh- 
teen years  before,  had  accompanied  Carlyle  to 
Paris.  "  Min  "  must  have  been  a  household 
name  for  Miss  Jeannie  Welsh. 

XXIV.      CARLYLE   TO   HIS   MOTHER,    SCOTSBRIG. 

Chelsea,  19th  Sept.  1842. 

My  dear  Mother,  —  Will  you  take  the 
smallest  of  notes  from  me  merely  to  perform 
the  essential  function  of  a  note,  —  ask  you 
how  you  are  and  say  that  I  am  well. 

I  wrote  you  ten  days  ago  a  long  letter 
dated  Cambridge  from  my  Inn  in  that  Town. 
This  I  hope  you  received  duly.  It  would 
let  you  into  my  ways  in  those  weeks.  Next 
day  I  got  well  enough  back  to  Troston,  rain 
attending  me  for  the  last  two  hours.  I  was 
terribly  wearied  of  my  great  flat-soled  mon- 
ster of  a  horse,  but  much  gratified  with  my 
pilgrimage  and  all  rejoiced  very  handsomely 
at  my  return.  Charles  had  come  in  the  in- 
terim. They  would  not  let  us  away  on  Mon- 
day as  we  proposed.  It  was  settled  at  last 
that  Thursday  should  be  the  day.  Charles 
came  up  with  us  to  Town.  We  had  a  very 
pleasant  kind  of  journey  and  got  safe  home 


TO  HIS  MOTHER  149 

to  dinner  here.  So  ends  the  Troston  journey 
and  I  think  all  travelling  for  this  season. 
The  good  Mrs.  Strachey,  who  is  now  in  Italy, 
wrote  to  offer  us  her  house  and  servants  for 
two  months  at  Clifton,  a  beautiful  Village 
near  Bristol,  100  miles  to  the  west  of  us,  but 
we  have  refused.  Rolling  stone  gathers  little 
bog.  I  must  resolutely  get  some  work  done 
now. 

Jane  seems  really  better  for  her  country 
excursion.  I  observed  to-day  that  she  eats 
a  whole  slice  of  bread  to  breakfast  again. 
Little  Min  W.  is  still  here.  I  think  she  likes 
much  better  to  be  here  than  at  home,  in  the 
midst  of  luxury  but  also  of  Liverpool  stupid- 
ity. She  is  a  fine  cheery  little  lass,  very 
pretty  too,  and  would  make  a  good  wife  for 
somebody. 

The  Duke  of  Buccleuch  has  now  actually 
paid  me  the  £100  —  at  least  sent  a  draft 
payable  in  10  days  hence.  I  sent  my  thanks 
and  the  business  is  all  over  —  a  right  agree- 
able result.  You  may  tell  Jamie  that  the 
Templand  Grates  too  are  paid,  payable  at  the 
same  time ;  that  we  saved  the  Grates  that 
day,  and  our  broiling  journey  was  not  in  vain, 
therefore. 

I  hope  they  have  now  all  got  a  sight  of 


150  LETTERS  OF  CABLYLE 

your  picture  and  that  I  shall  get  it  soon.  It 
will  be  needless  to  wait  for  Jack,  he,  as  I  re- 
flect, can  do  nothing  towards  carrying  it. 
Poor  fellow  —  you  will  see  him  again.  Here 
is  his  last  letter,  though  it  can  have  no  news 
for  you.  How  goes  Jamie's  harvest?  The 
weather  has  been  brittle  ever  since  that  thun- 
derstorm. How  go  you  yourself,  my  dear 
good  Mother  ?  Somebody  ought  to  write  to 
me  now.  I  do  not  hear  anything  even  from 
Jean.  Could  Jenny  make  me  two  pairs  of 
flannel  drawers  along  with  the  shirts  ?  I 
fear  not.  Adieu,  dear  Mother,  my  love  to 
one  and  all. 

T.  Carlylb. 

XXV.      CARLYLE   TO   MRS.    HANKING,    THE   GILL. 

Chelsea,  2d  Nov.  1842. 

My  dear  Jenny,  —  Yesterday  I  meant  to 
have  written  to  you,  in  order  to  be  ready  for 
Thursday  at  Annan,  such  had  been  my  firm 
purpose,  but  something  came  in  the  way,  and 
I  altogether  forgot  till  this  morning.  Lest  I 
make  a  similar  mistake  for  Saturday  too,  I 
will  take  time  by  the  forelock  and  write  even 
now.  The  barrel  of  meal,  and  the  box  of 
garments  arrived  all  safe,  on  Saturday  night 
last. 


TO  MRS.  HANNING  151 

And  I  have  to  apprize  you,  as  the  expert 
needlewoman  of  the  whole,  that  all  Jits  with 
perfect  correctness.  I  have  had  a  pair  of 
drawers  on,  and  a  flannel  shirt,  I  have  one  of 
the  cambric  shirts  on  me  at  present :  every- 
thing is  as  right  as  if  it  had  been  made  under 
my  own  eye.  The  flannel  of  the  shirts  is 
excellent,  they  are  made  to  the  very  measure. 
The  drawers  also  are  the  best  Jit  of  the  article 
I  have  had  for  several  years  back  ;  two  of  the 
pairs,  I  observe,  are  of  the  fine  flannel  the 
shirts  are  of.  Perhaps  it  will  prove  too  cool 
for  the  depth  of  winter  — -  perhaps  not,  but 
either  way  I  have  plenty  of  warmer,  for  that 
season.  One  of  the  pairs  is  of  right  shaggy 
flannel.  My  good  Mother  sent  a  fine  wool 
plaid  too  and  a  dozen  pair  of  socks,  few  mor- 
tals are  better  off  for  woolen  this  winter  !  — 
As  to  the  muslin  shirts  Jane  says  they  are 
excellently  sewed,  —  She  is  the  judge,  I  find 
them  to  lie  Jlat  on  the  breast  too,  which  the 
old  would  never  do. 

In  short,  it  is  all  perfectly  right ;  and  you 
■will  be  very  glad,  I  doubt  not,  that  you 
have  got  it  well  off  your  hands.  If  in  the 
course  of  the  winter,  you  fall  out  of  work, 
and  want  a  canny  job  for  yourself,  it  will  be 
acceptable  enough  to  me  that  you  set  Jean 


152  LETTERS  OF  CAELYLE 

upon  getting  you  some  more  stuff,  and  make 
me  half  a  dozen  more  of  the  like  shirts  !  But 
this  you  need  not,  unless  in  the  aforesaid 
case.  I  believe  the  stock  I  have  will  serve 
me  some  couple  of  years  or  more.  But  they 
eat  no  bread.  —  If  you  ever  do  think  of  this, 
you  can  let  me  know  before  starting ;  I  may 
perhaps  have  some  remarks  to  make. 

You  will  be  nestling  all  under  cover  now 
at  Gill,  when  the  short  days  and  the  frosts 
are  come.  I  hope  you  have  a  right  stock  of 
fuel  in  your  end  of  the  house ;  and  that  your 
little  carpet  is  now  complete.  I  long  to 
question  the  Dr.  about  you  when  he  comes 
back  hither.  He  is  at  a  place  they  call 
Malvern  some  120  miles  west  of  this. 

How  are  Mary  and  Jamie  ?  very  busy,  and 
well,  I  hope.  Mary  never  writes.  I  sent 
James  a  tobacco-box  !  —  Poor  Allan  Cunning- 
ham the  Poet  is  dead  very  suddenly ;  a  sad 
event  for  several  of  us  !  — 

Adieu,  Dear  little  sister. 

Ever  your  affect. 

T.  Carlyle. 

Much  as  Carlyle  had  been  thinking  about 
Cromwell,  another  book  was  to  come  first,  — 
a  book  for  which  his  very  trip  to  Cromwell's 


[To  Mrs.  H aiming] 


CZ^Zi^  f  l<  u^*-, ,  L<&ti 


UZJLf    J 


^^    ci^2u^/tw</a      ^^    Wv-  C^  fr<*&*~   U^U.  {  _  V^ 
^jUa       Q,      UAjI^    u^ru    CLa^     "t^-     '^^Wk-    ^*-*\h      <*>     **f 


<<M  (hjrf  (Wa^r>    Wu/W   ^W    ^^*~     *    c*-aa    ^^v^   ^^ 


A  PROFESSIONAL  JOURNEY  153 

country  was  fruitful  in  suggestion.  At  St. 
Ives  he  had  seen  not  only  Cromwell's  farm, 
but  also  St.  Ives  poorhouse  with  its  inhabit- 
ants, —  "  in  the  sun,"  to  be  sure,  but  neither 
spinsters  nor  knitters,  nor  workers  after  any 
fashion,  for  the  simple  reason  that  they  had 
no  work  to  do.  The  Chartist  riots  of  1842 
remained  in  Carlyle's  mind  with  this  symbolic 
picture,  and  by  October  of  the  same  year  he 
was  deeply  pondering  the  condition  of  "  the 
English  nation  all  sitting  enchanted,  the  poor 
enchanted  so  that  they  cannot  work,  the  rich 
enchanted  so  that  they  cannot  enjoy." .  Over 
against  this  contemporary  view  Carlyle  set 
the  life  of  the  monks  of  Bury  St.  Edmunds, 
as  told  by  their  chronicler,  Jocelyn  de  Brake- 
londe ;  and  the  result  was  Past  and  Present, 
written,  apparently  with  less  struggle  than 
any  of  the  author's  other  books,  in  the  first 
seven  weeks  of  1843.  Although  Carlyle 
went  too  far  in  this  work,  —  as  indeed  he 
so  seldom  failed  to  do,  —  Past  and  Present 
proved  the  germ  of  more  than  one  sadly 
needed  reform ;  and  the  splendid,  sonorous 
passage  beginning,  "  All  true  work  is  sacred," 
will  remain,  one  must  believe,  an  inalienable 
possession  of  English  literature  and  English 
morals. 


154  LETTERS  OF  CABLYLE 

Publication  followed  in  April,  and  soon 
afterward  Carlyle  wrote  in  his  Journal : 
"  That  book  always  stood  between  me  and 
Cromwell,  and  now  that  has  fledged  itself 
and  flown  off."  Face  to  face  with  Oliver 
again,  Carlyle  went  in  the  summer  of  184:3 
to  see  famous  battlefields  of  the  civil  war. 
He  so  planned  his  itinerary  as  to  reach  Dun- 
bar on  the  3d  of  September,  —  the  day  of 
the  fight  there,  the  day  of  Worcester  fight, 
and  the  day  of  Cromwell's  death. 

This  professional  journey  was  preceded  by 
a  peaceful  month  at  Scotsbrig,  and  followed 
by  a  visit  to  Erskine  which  fixes  the  date  of 
the  next  letter. 

XXVI.      CARLYLE   TO   HIS  MOTHER,    SCOTSBRIG. 

[Linlathen,  early  September,  1843.] 

Yesterday  by  appointment,  the  good 
Thomas  Erskine  took  me  up  at  Kirkcaldy, 
carried  me  off  hither  on  the  top  of  the  coach, 
bag  and  baggage.  The  day  was  damp  and 
dim,  not  exactly  wet,  yet  in  danger  of  becom- 
ing very.  There  had  been  rain  in  the  night 
time  (Sabbath  night  or  early  on  Monday  morn- 
ing) but  there  fell  no  more.  This  day  again 
is  oppressively  hot,  dry  yet  without  sun  or 
wind  —  a  baddish  "  day  for  a  stock."     But 


TO  HIS  MOTHER  155 

they  prophesy  fair  weather  now  —  which  I 
shall  be  glad  of,  and  the  whole  country  will 
be  glad,  for  all  is  white  here,  in  sheaves  and 
stooks,  and  little  got  into  ricks.  We  got 
here  about  5  in  the  evening,  a  great  party  of 
people  in  the  house  (a  big  Laird's  house 
with,  flunkeys  &c,  &c).  I  was  heartily  tired 
before  I  got  to  bed.  I  do  not  think  I  shall 
be  rightly  at  rest  till  I  get  on  ship  board, 
then  I  will  lie  down  and  let  all  men  have  a 
care  of  stirring  me,  —  they  had  better  let  the 
sleeping  dog  lie  !  The  Dundee  steamers  are 
allowed  to  be  the  best  on  these  waters,  large 
swift  ships  and  very  few  passengers  in  them 
at  present.  I  spoke  for  my  place  yesterday 
and  am  to  have  the  best.  The  kind  people 
here  will  relieve  me  down  (it  is  four  miles  off) 
and  then  about  4  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  — 
I  shall  —  light  a  pipe  in  peace  and  think  of 
you  all,  speaking  not  a  word.  I  expect  to 
sleep  well  there  too,  and  then  on  Friday,  per- 
haps about  3  o'clock,  I  may  be  at  London 
Bridge  and  home  by  the  most  convenient 
conveyance  to  Chelsea  for  dinner.  This,  if 
all  go  well,  this  ends  for  the  present  my  pil- 
grimings  up  and  down  the  world. 

Dear  Mother,  I  wish    I    had    gone    direct 
home  when  I  left  you,  for  it  is  not  pleasant 


156  LETTERS   OF  CARLYLE 

somehow  to  be  still  in  Scotland  and  far  from 
you.  I  speak  not  the  thoughts  I  send  to- 
wards you,  for  speech  will  not  express  them. 
If  I  arrive  home  on  Friday  you  may  perhaps 
find  a  newspaper  at  Ecclefechan  on  Sabbath 
morning,  Monday  much  likelier.  God  bless 
you  all. 

T.  Carlyle. 

The  passage  about  Jeffrey  in  the  next  let- 
ter is  better  than  the  corresponding  one  given 
by  Froude.  The  reader  who  remembers  Jef- 
frey's complaint  that  Carlyle  was  "  so  dread- 
fully in  earnest,"  will  smile  at  Carlyle's  coun- 
ter charge  that  Jeffrey  had  "  too  little  real 
seriousness  in  him "  to  "  make  a  nice  old 
man." 

XXVII.    CARLYLE    TO    HIS    MOTHER,    SCOTSBRIG. 

LlNLATHEN,  DUNDEE, 

Tuesday,  12th  Sep.  1843. 

My  dear  Mother,  —  According  to  pro- 
mise, I  write  you  another  little  word  to  an- 
nounce that  I  am  safe  so  far  on  my  way,  that 
I  embark  to-morrow  and  hope  to  be  home  on 
Friday  afternoon.  I  am  heartily  desirous  of 
it !  This  last  part  of  my  travels  has  been 
considerably  the  weariest,  for  I  have  been  all 


TO  HIS  MOTHER  157 

along  eager  chiefly  to  have  done  with  it. 
Jamie  knows  how  fain  I  would  never  have 
entered  upon  it  all.  He  took  notice  of  my 
reluctance  at  Dumfries  and  how  welcome  a 
shower  of  rain  would  have  been  to  me ! 
However  it  is  near  ending  now  ;  and  I  shall 
enjoy  the  quiet  of  home  all  the  more.  One 
thing,  dear  Mother,  let  me  straightway  tell 
you ;  that  I  have  not  left  one  of  my  new 
shirts,  that  the  whole  six,  when  I  fold  them 
duly  out,  are  here.  I  grieve  that  you  should 
have  had  a  moment's  uneasiness  about  that 
matter,  which  is  due  only  to  my  own  blind- 
ness and  numbness  ;  my  hope  is  that  you  did 
not  take  it  up  too  earnestly,  but  left  the 
matter  over  "  till  Jenny  came." 

I  have  now  got  two  letters  from  Jane,  the 
last  of  them  only  yesterday  !  All  is  well  at 
Chelsea;  Jack  not  yet  settled  in  any  lodging, 
nor  in  the  least  decided  what  to  do,  but  "  in 
a  state  of  torpor '  as  Jane  says  "  playing 
with  the  cat."  He  was  dining  with  Lady 
Clare ;  that  was  the  last  feat  recorded  of 
him.  I  was  much  grieved  to  hear  that  you 
had  somehow  missed  Alick's  letter :  has  it 
never  yet  turned  up  for  you  ?  I  am  too  ig- 
norant about  the  business  to  form  any  con- 
jecture how  it  could  have  come  about.    Mean- 


158  LETTERS  OF  CARLYLE 

while  it  was  very  lucky  that  there  came 
another  letter  of  the  same  date  for  Jack  :  — 
this  I  am  in  hopes  will  be  ready  for  me  at 
London  when  I  arrive.  By  the  bye,  might 
it  not  be  that  Alick  had  only  meant  and  fully 
intended  to  write  you  a  letter,  and  then  had 
suddenly  found  that  he  would  not  have  time 
by  that  mail  ?  Of  course  the  two  letters,  if 
there  had  been  two,  would  come  together :  it 
is  unaccountable  how  one  of  them  should 
drop  by  the  way.  What  a  blessing  to  us  to 
hear  that  poor  Alick  is  safe  there  and  ready 
to  begin  his  adventure  on  fair  terms.  Jane 
says  his  letter  is  of  very  composed  tone  and 
"  very  practical  looking."  She  seems  to  like 
the  tone  of  it  well.  I  went  over  to  Edin- 
burgh since  I  last  wrote.  I  there  saw  Gor- 
don, saw  various  other  friends  —  with  more 
or  less  of  labour  and  fatigue.  I  spent  a  fore- 
noon with  Jeffrey  who  is  very  thin  and  fret- 
ful I  think ;  being  at  any  rate  weakly,  he  is 
much  annoyed  at  present  by  a  hurt  on  his 
shin  —  a  quite  insignificant  thing  otherwise, 
which  however  disables  him  from  walking-. 
Poor  Jeffrey !  he  does  not  make  a  nice  old 
man,  he  has  too  little  real  seriousness  in  him 
for  that.  On  the  whole  I  was  heartily  glad 
to  quit  Edinburgh  again  and  get  away  from 


HOUSEHOLD   CHANGES  159 

it  into  quietude  across  the  Frith.     I  wrote  to 
Jean  at  Dumfries  one  day. 

"  Carlyle  returned  from  his  travels  very 
bilious,"  so  his  wife  wrote  to  Mrs.  Aitken  in 
October,  1843,  "  and  continues  very  bilious 
up  to  this  hour."  He  could  not  refuse  a 
"  certain  admiration ':  at  the  state  of  the 
house,  which  had  been  painted  and  papered 
in  his  absence.  Mrs.  Carlyle,  with  her  own 
hands,  had  put  down  carpets,  newly  covered 
chairs  and  sofas,  and  arranged  a  library  ac- 
cording to  his  (expressed)  mind.  His  satis- 
faction lasted  only  three  days,  for  on  the 
morning  of  the  fourth  day  "  the  young  lady 
next  door  took  a  fit  of  practising  on  her  ac- 
cursed piano-forte."  There  had  then  to  be 
another  upheaval  :  "  down  went  a  partition 
in  one  room,  up  went  a  new  chimney  in 
another  ;  '  and  still  another  library,  farther 
from  the  piano,  was  thus  contrived.  Finally, 
the  young  lady,  charmed  by  "  a  seductive 
letter "  from  Carlyle,  agreed  never  to  play 
until  two  in  the  afternoon.  The  dinner  hour 
was  changed  to  the  middle  of  the  day,  be- 
cause Carlyle  thought  it  would  be  better  for 
his  digestion. 

Although   these   changes,  which   in   Mrs. 


160  LETTERS  OF  CARLYLE 

Carlyle's  account  seem  planet-shaking,  were 
in  the  interest  of  Cromwell,  Cromwell  re- 
mained persistently  unwritable.  On  the  4th 
of  December  the  historian  wrote  to  Sterling  : 
"  Confound  it !  I  have  lost  four  years  of 
good  labour  in  the  business ;  and  still  the 
more  I  expend  on  it,  it  is  like  throwing  good 
labour  after  bad."  Two  days  later  he  put  a 
better  face  on  it  to  his  mother. 

XXVIII.  CARLYLE  TO  HIS  MOTHER,  SCOTSBRIG. 

Chelsea,  Monday,  6th  Dec.  1843. 

My  dear  Mother,  —  We  have  a  letter 
from  Jean  this  week,  who  reports  a  visit  to 
you  and  gives  us  a  description  of  what  you 
were  about.  We  were  very  glad  to  look  in 
upon  you  in  that  way.  Jean  describes  you 
as  very  well  when  they  came,  but  since  then 
(though  she  tells  us  of  your  prohibition  to 
mention  it  at  all)  there  has  been  some  ill 
turn  of  health  which  we  long  greatly  to  hear 
of  the  removal  of  !  I  study,  dear  Mother, 
not  to  afflict  myself  with  useless  anxieties, 
but  on  the  whole  it  is  much  better  that  one 
knows  exactly  how  matters  do  stand,  the  very 
fact,  no  better  and  no  worse  than  it  is.  To- 
day there  was  a  little  Note  from  James  Ait- 
ken  apprising  us  that    the  Books  are  come, 


TO  HIS  MOTHER  161 

that  Jenny  is  with  him.  He  has  evidently 
heard  nothing  farther  from  Scotsbrig,  so  we 
will  hope  things  may  have  got  into  their 
usual  course  again  there.  But  Jamie  or 
somebody  may  write  us  a  scrap  of  intelli- 
gence, surely  ?  .  .   . 

This  is  said  to  be  a  very  unhealthy  season 
here ;  for  the  past  two  months  about  two 
hundred  more  deaths  in  the  week  have  oc- 
curred than  is  usual  at  this  season,  but  I 
rather  conjecture  it  is  the  result  of  the  long 
continued  hardship  the  Poor  have  been  suf- 
fering, which  now,  after  wearing  out  the  con- 
stitution by  hunger  and  distress  of  mind,  be- 
gins to  tell  more  visibly !  Our  weather  is 
very  mild,  soft  without  any  great  quantity  of 
rain  and  not  at  all  disagreeable.  Jane's  cold 
is  gone  again  and  we  are  in  our  common 
way. 

My  Book  goes  on  badly,  yet  I  do  think 
it  goes  on,  in  fact  it  must  go  :  Bore  away 
at  it  with  continuous  boring  day  and  night 
and  it  will  be  obliged  to  go !  I  study  how- 
ever not  to  "  split  my  gall "  with  it,  but 
to  "  hasten  slowly  "  as  the  old  Romans  said. 
When  writing  will  not  brother  with  me  at  all, 
I  fling  it  entirely  by  and  go  and  walk  many 
a  mile    in    the    country.     I  have    big    thick 


162  LETTERS  OF  CARLYLE 

shoes,  my  jacket  is  waterproof  against  slight 
rain,  I  take  a  stick  in  my  hand  and  walk  with 
long  strides.  The  farther  I  walk,  the  abler 
I  grow ;  in  fact  I  am  rather  in  better  health, 
I  think,  than  usual,  if  all  things  are  consid- 
ered. Jack  and  I  had  a  long-  walk  after 
Tailors  for  some  three  hours  in  the  moon- 
light streets  last  night.  To-day  it  is  damp, 
but  I  am  for  a  sally  again.  Alas,  it  is  but  a 
very  poor  morning  task  I  have  done,  but  we 
cannot  help  it.  Adieu,  dear  good  Mother, 
for  our  sakes  take  care  of  yourself.  My  love 
to  all. 

Yours  affection1/ 

T.  Carlyle. 


Carlyle  never  liked  any  portrait  of  himself. 
The  one  mentioned  in  the  following-  letter 
had  made  him  look  like  "  a  flayed  horse's 
head." 

XXIX.       CARLYLE  TO  HIS  MOTHER,  SCOTSBRTG. 

Chelsea,  10th  March,  1844. 

My  dear  Mother,  —  It  is  a  shame  for  me 
if  I  do  not  write  a  bit  of  a  letter  to  you. 
There  is  nothing  else  I  can  do  for  you  at 
present.     I  will  scribble  you  a  few  words  of 


TO  HIS  MOTHER  163 

news  on    this    paper,  let   other  employments 
fare  as  they  can  for  the  present. 

I  sent  your  good  little  note  to  the  Doctor. 
Jamie's  letter  for  Alick  came  duly  to  hand 
and  was  duly  forwarded  ;  I  also  wrote  a  let- 
ter to  Alick  myself.  Poor  fellow,  I  suppose 
he  has  had  a  very  solitary,  meditative  winter 
of  it  over  in  America,  and  has  no  doubt  had 
a  great  many  reflections  in  his  head,  looking 
back  and  looking  forward,  with  perhaps  sad- 
ness enough,  but  it  will  do  him  good,  I  really 
believe.  Perhaps  this  winter,  seemingly  one 
of  the  idlest  he  has  had,  may  turn  out  to  be 
one  of  the  most  profitably  occupied.  My 
own  hope  and  persuasion  is  that  he  will  now 
do  well,  that  he  is  probably  about  to  begin  a 
new  course  of  activity  on  better  terms  than 
before,  better  terms  both  inward  and  out- 
ward, and  that  in  fine,  poor  fellow,  he  may 
begin  to  see  the  fruit  of  his  labor  round  him 
and  go  on  with  much  more  peace  and  pro- 
sperity than  heretofore.  ...  I  also  like  the 
tone  of  his  letters,  which  is  much  quieter 
than  it  used  to  be.  He  does  not  know,  I 
suppose,  in  what  direction  he  is  to  go  when 
April  arrives.  I  urged,  as  Jamie  did,  that  a 
healthy  quality  of  situation  should  outweigh 
all  other  considerations  whatever,  that  for  the 


164  LETTERS   OF  CAELYLE 

rest  all  places  seemed  to  me  much  alike  ;  if 
the  land  were  cheap,  it  would  be  unfavour- 
ably situated  &c.  I  also  hinted  my  notion 
that  a  small  piece  of  good  handy  soil  might 
be  preferable  to  a  large  lot  of  untowardly, 
outlying  ground.  We  can  only  hope  and 
pray  he  may  be  guided  loell.  We  cannot 
assist  him  with  any  real  guidance.  Difficul- 
ties beset  a  man  everywhere  under  this  sun. 
There  if  he  have  patience,  insight,  energy 
and  justness  of  mind  he  will  daily  conquer 
farther,  —  not  otherwise,  either  in  America 
or  here.  But,  as  I  said,  I  have  never  lost 
hope  with  Alick,  and  I  have  now  better  hope 
than  ever.  We  will  commit  him  to  the  all- 
wise  Governor  with  many  a  prayer  from  the 
bottom  of  all  our  hearts  that  it  may  be  well 
with  him.  To  hear  and  know  that  he  does 
see  good  under  the  sun,  fighting  his  way  like 
a  true  man  in  that  new  country  !  —  what  a 
comfort  to  you  and  to  every  one  of  us.  My 
dear  Mother,  I  know  your  heart  is  many  a 
time  sad  about  Alick.  He  is  far  away  and 
there  are  others  of  us  gone  still  farther,  be- 
yond the  shores  of  this  earth,  whither  our 
poor  thoughts  vainly  strive  to  follow  them,  — 
our  hearts'  love  following  them  still  :  —  but 
we  know  this  one  thing,  that  God  is  there 


TO  HIS  MOTHER  165 

also,  in  America,  in  the  dark  Grave  itself  and 
the  unseen  Eternity  —  even  He  is  there  too, 
and  will  not  He  do  all  things  well  ?  We 
have  no  other  Anchor  of  the  soul  in  any  of 
the  tempests,  great  or  little,  of  this  world. 
By  this  let  us  hold  fast  and  piously  hope  in 
all  scenes  and  seasons  whatsoever.     Amen. 

You  bid  me  "  call  on  Patience "  in  this 
Book  of  mine.  Dear  Mother,  it  is  the  best 
and  only  good  advice  that  can  be  given.  I  do 
endeavour  to  call  on  patience  and  sometimes 
she  comes,  and  if  I  keep  my  shoulder  stiffly 
at  the  wheel  withal,  we  shall  certainly  get 
under  way  by  and  bye.  The  thing  goes  in- 
deed, or  now  promises  to  go,  a  little  better 
with  me.  I  stand  to  it  as  I  can.  But  it  will 
be  a  terribly  difficult  job  and  take  a  long 
time,  I  think.  However,  that  it  is  a  useful 
one,  worthy  to  be  done  by  me  I  am  resolved, 
and  so  I  will  do  it  if  permitted  —  the  return 
and  earthy  reward  of  it  may  be  either  great 
or  small,  or  even  nothing  and  abuse  into  the 
bargain,  just  as  it  likes.  Thank  Heaven  I 
can  do  either  or  any  way  as  to  that,  for  this 
time,  and  indeed,  often  when  I  look  at  it,  the 
prizes  people  get  in  this  world  and  the  kind 
of  people  that  get  them  seem  but  a  ridiculous 
business.     If  there  were  not  something  more 


166  LETTERS  OF  CARLYLE 

serious  behind  all  that,  I  think  it  would 
hardly  be  worth  while  to  live  in  such  a  place 
as  this  world  at  all.  In  short  I  hold  on  the 
best  I  can  —  and  my  good  Mother's  picture 
looking  down  on  me  here,  seems  to  bid  me 
"  call  on  Patience  "  and  persevere  like  a  man. 
Jane  has  not  been  very  well  in  these  cold 
stormy  weeks,  but  I  think  is  now  getting 
better  again.  It  is  the  spring  weather,  which 
this  year  has  been  the  real  winter  ;  all  manner 
of  people  are  unwell  here  at  present.  You  in 
the  North  have  it  still  worse,  far  worse  than 
we.  Many  a  time  have  I  asked  myself  what 
is  becoming  of  my  good  old  Mother  in  these 
wild  blasts.  Surely  you  keep  good  fires  at 
Scotsbrig  ?  Surely  you  wear  the  new  Hawick 
sloughs  ?  Jane  finds  hers  very  warm  and 
nice  ;  but  the  thing  you  might  improve  greatly 
and  never  do  is  your  diet.  I  think  you 
should  live  chiefly  on  fowl.  A  hen  is  always 
fair  food,  divide  her  into  four  pieces  —  she 
makes  you  an  excellent  dinner  of  soup  and 
meat  for  four  days.  This  you  know  very 
well  for  others,  but  never  learn  it  for  your- 
self. I  am  very  serious.  You  should  actu- 
ally set  about  this  reform.  Do  now  —  you 
will  find  it  more  important  on  your  health 
than  any  medicine  or  other  appliance  you  can 


TO  HIS  MOTHER  167 

think  of.  Jenny,  I  suppose,  is  still  at  the 
Giil.  When  you  feel  tired  of  solitude  again 
she  will  come  hack  to  you.  The  bairns  as 
they  grow  will  be  quieter  and  give  less  trou- 
ble. Poor  Jenny,  no  doubt  of  it,  she  has 
many  cares  of  her  own  :  we  should  all  be 
gentle  with  her,  pity  her  and  help  her  what 
we  can. 

But  now  I  suppose  you  are  very  impatient 
to  know  what  is  in  that  paste  board  roll  tied 
with  string.  Open  the  string  with  your  scis- 
sors and  you  will  see  —  one  of  the  ugliest 
pictures  ever  drawn  of  man.  A  certain  per- 
son here  has  been  publishing  some  book 
called  "  Spirit  of  the  Age,"  pretending  to 
give  people  account  of  all  the  remarkable  men 
of  the  age;  he  has  put  me  into  it  —  better 
luck  to  him.  He  wrote  several  months  ago 
requesting  that  I  should  furnish  him  with 
some  life  of  myself  —  forsooth  !  This  I  alto- 
gether begged  leave  respectfully  to  decline, 
but  he  got  hold  of  a  picture  that  a  certain 
painter  has  of  me,  and  of  this  he  has  made 
an  engraving,  —  like  me  in  nothing,  or  in 
very  little,  I  should  flatter  myself.  Let  Isa- 
bella roll  the  paper  of  it  the  contrary  way 
and  then  it  will  lie  flat,  if  indeed  the  post 
office  bags  do  not   squeeze   it  all  to  pieces, 


168  LETTERS   OF  CAELYLE 

which  I  think  is  fully  as  likely  and  will  be  no 
great  matter.  I  sent  it  to  you  as  to  the  one 
that  had  a  right  to  it.  Much  good  may  it  do 
you! 

Jamie  said  he  would  write.  Let  him  do  so 
—  or  else  you  yourself  ought  to  write,  or  both 
will  be  best.  Jack  and  I  were  at  Dinner  to- 
gether among  a  set  of  notables  the  night  be- 
fore last,  came  home  together  smoking  two 
cigars,  all  right.  Adieu,  dear  Mother,  my 
big  sheet  is  done.  My  regards  to  Isabella, 
to  Jamie  and  them  all.  My  blessings  with 
you,  dear  Mother. 

Yours  affect. 

T.  Carlyle. 

Carlyle  maps  the  Gill,  as  well  as  other 
places  to  which  these  letters  make  frequent 
reference,  in  his  introductory  note  to  Letter 
283,  in  the  "  Letters  and  Memorials  of  Jane 
Welsh  Carlyle  :  "  —  "  The  Gill,  Sister  Mary's 
poor  but  ever  kind  and  generous  human 
habitation,  is  a  small  farmhouse,  seven  miles 
beyond  Annan,  twenty-seven  beyond  Carlisle, 
eiofht  or  ten  miles  short  of  Dumfries.  .  .  . 
Scotsbrio^  lies  some  ten  miles  northward  of 
the  Gill  (road  at  right  angles  to  the  Carlisle 
and  Dumfries  Railway)." 


TO  MRS.  JAMES  AUSTIN  169 

"  Our  brother,"  spoken  of  in  the  second 
paragraph,  is  again  the  half-brother  already 
mentioned. 


XXX.    CARLYLE   TO   MRS.    JAMES   AUSTIN,   THE   GILL. 

Chelsea,  30tk  April,  1844. 

My  dear  Mary,  —  We  seldom  hear  di- 
rectly of  you  and  it  is  a  long  while  since  you 
have  had  an  express  word  from  any  of  our 
hands  here.  You  are  not  to  suppose  that  we 
forget  you  on  that  account.  Far  enough 
from  that !  You  are  many  times  in  my 
thoughts.  I  fancy  you  and  James  strug- 
gling along  in  your  diligent,  industrious  way, 
struggling  to  fight  your  battles  in  these  bad 
times,  and  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart  I 
affectionately  bid  you  God  Speed.  Struggle 
away,  my  dear  sister.  We  must  so  struggle 
and  we  must  not  be  beaten.  Assure  yourself 
always  that  I  am  not  less  brother-like  in  heart 
towards  you  than  in  old  days  when  you  saw 
me  oftener  and  heard  from  me  oftener.  To- 
day I  send  you  a  little  slip  of  paper  which 
will  turn  into  a  sovereign  when  you  present  it 
at  the  Annan  Post  Office  and  sign  your  name 
"  Mary  Austin  "  —  from  me  "  at  Chelsea." 
If  you  be  not  there  yourself,  James  can  sign 
for  you  if  you  sign  it  first,  but  the  thing  is 


170  LETTERS  OF  CARLYLE 

in  no  haste  and  will  lie  till  you  go.  Buy 
yourself  a  bit  of  a  bonnet  or  anything  you 
like  with  the  piece  of  money  and  wear  it  with 
my  blessing,  sometimes  thinking  of  us  here. 

No  doubt  you  hear  duly  about  us.  You 
have  heard  I  suppose  how  Alick  is  gone  over 
to  Canada,  to  our  brother  there,  not  into  the 
deep  Western  regions  of  America  with  Clow, 
which  Canada  arrangement  of  Alick's  we  like 
better  than  the  other.  It  seems  to  me  Alick 
may  do  well  there  now.  He  will  get  a  piece 
of  land  and  every  year  that  he  tills  it  faith- 
fully it  will  be  growing  better  for  him.  La- 
bour is  labour,  not  joyful  but  heavy  and  sore 
in  any  part  of  this  world,  but  if  a  person  see 
any  fruit  of  his  labour  it  is  always  an  encour- 
agement to  him. 

Our  dear  old  Mother  seems  to  have  been 
rather  weaklier  this  last  winter  than  hereto- 
fore. Jack  had  a  letter  yesterday  from  Jen- 
nie at  Scotsbrig  which  represents  her  as  being 
pretty  well  at  present.  I  think  Jenny  should 
stay  much  with  her  and  look  after  her.  Good 
old  Mother  —  the  spring  weather  will  grow 
gradually  into  steady  summer  and  then  she 
will  have  a  better  time  of  it,  we  may  hope. 

Jack  was  here  last  night.  He  talks  of  go- 
ing North  to  "  the  country,"  probably  toward 


TO  MRS.  JAMES  AUSTIN  171 

Annandale,  before  long,  but  his  movements 
are  very  uncertain.  He  has  not  yet  any 
fixed  employment  here  and  would  be  much 
better  if  he  had.  He  does  not  seem  to  like 
medicine  and  is  hovering  among  a  great 
variety  of  things.  We  always  hope  he  will 
fix  himself  on  some  specific  object  by  and 
bye.  As  for  me  I  am  very  busy  but  making 
very  bad  progress.  I  have  nothing  for  it  but 
to  bore  along  mole-like  ;  I  shall  get  out  some 
time  or  other.  Our  spring  wind  has  turned 
round  tempestuously  into  the  North  of  late 
and  brought  cold  and  dust,  with  the  glare  of 
sunshine,  not  so  pleasant  to  the  invalid  part 
of  us.  Jane,  however,  is  tolerably  well  and 
growing  stronger  as  the  sun  grows.  She 
sends  her  old  love  to  you  and  kind  remem- 
brances. Give  my  regards  to  James  —  he 
must  be  planting  his  potatoes  now.  Love  to 
you. 


John  Sterling,  whose  illness  is  lamented  in 
the  next  letter,  died  on  the  18th  of  the  fol- 
lowing September.  Shortly  before  his  death 
he  wrote  to  Carlyle :  "  Towards  me,  it  is  still 
more  true  than  towards  England,  that  no 
man  has  been  and  done  like  you." 


172  LETTERS  OF  CARLYLE 

XXXI.     CARLYLE    TO   DR.    JOHN    CARLYLE,    SCOTSBRIG. 

Chelsea,  5th  Aug.  1844. 

My  dear  Brother,  —  Your  letter  in  my 
dearth  of  news  was  very  welcome  to  me. 
You  should  keep  me  going  at  least  for  Scots- 
brig  news  while  you  are  there.  Our  good 
Mother  must  go  back  to  the  bathing.  I  hope 
the  next  spring,  rides  will  prove  handier. 
Our  weather  here  too  is  much  broken  with 
rain,  though  otherwise  warm  and  genial. 

I  asked  about  your  Book-sheets  of  Coch- 
rane. The  sheets  were  duly  furnished  :  the 
book  is  lying  bound  and  ready  in  the  London 
Library.  I  would  have  brought  it  home  with 
me  had  there  been  a  conveyance  at  my  com- 
mand. I  left  it  lying  there  for  yourself.  Our 
City  is  got  almost  empty  and  very  quiet  in 
comparison.  I  hope  I  shall  get  on  with  some- 
what less  interruption  in  my  labour ;  it  is  a 
sluggish  element,  sluggish  as  thick  mud  and 
bottomless,  except  when  one  makes  a  bottom. 
Nothing  but  strenuous  hard  work,  harder 
than  I  have  yet  continuously  given  it,  will 
ever  bring  me  through ;  for  all  is  chaos 
within  it  and  without  it.     Eheu  ! 

A  striving  Scotch  youth  came  to  me  the 
other  week,  equal,  as  he  said,  to  all  kinds  of 


TO  DR.  JOHN  CARLYLE  173 

old  manuscripts  &c,  &c.  I  gave  him  a  sov- 
ereign to  copy  me  that  Election  Tumult  ?  of 
d'Ewer  at  Ipswich.  I  have  got  that  here 
and  think  of  trying  to  make  a  magazine 
article  of  it  somewhere.  The  poor  lad  at- 
tempted farther  to  make  an  estimate  of  copy- 
ing all  d'Ewer's  Parl't  manuscript  for  me. 
£30,  he  said,  would  do  it  and  I  had  for  some 
days  real  thoughts  of  the  thing,  but  alas, 
my  man  in  the  interim  was  discovered  by  me 
to  be  a  quite  loose-talking,  dishonest-minded 
little  thing,  unable  to  employ  on  any  busi- 
ness ;  so  having  found  him  a  job  with  Mau- 
rice, writing  to  dictation  (in  which  dishonesty 
cannot  long  remain  undetected)  I  shook  him 
off,  but  it  does  partly  appear  to  me  I  must 
have  that  MSS.  to  read  and  con  over  at  my 
leisure  —  if  possible.  I  am  now  about  con- 
sulting with  the  Secretary  of  the  Camden 
Society;  but  expect  to  hear  that  they,  poor 
dilettante  quacks,  will  do  nothing.  Nothing 
however  will  serve  me  as  an  answer  from 
them.  I  think  if  I  had  the  MS.  right  here  I 
could  either  now  or  some  time  pay  myself 
£30  of  it.  On  the  whole  I  am  looking  out 
for  a  hand  amanuensis  to  copy  me  a  good 
many  things.  I  find  such  a  one  may  be  got, 
if  you  alight  luckily,  for  some  £60  or  £80 


174  LETTERS   OF  CABLYLE 

to  work  all  the  year  round;  it  is  but  the 
price  of  keeping  a  horse  here.  On  the  other 
hand  no  Bookseller  can  be  made  in  the  least 
to  bite  at  such  a  thing  ;  —  the  inane  mounte- 
bank quacks,  —  one  must  do  it  one's  self  or 
it  will  remain  undone.  I  made  them  get 
into  the  Library  a  Thrigg  and  now  also  a 
Vicen,  Part  First,  which  are  real  conquests  to 
me. 

Nothing  remarkable  has  arrived  here  ex- 
cept Emerson's  letter,  which  indeed  is  not 
very  remarkable  either.  Poor  Sterling,  as 
you  will  see  by  it,  and  may  know  more 
directly  now  from  me,  continues  very  ill, 
even  I  begin  now  to  doubt,  to  despond  alto- 
gether. He  is  obliged  to  "  sit  up  all  night 
propped  with  pillows,"  the  greater  part  of  his 
lungs  (Clark  says)  is  quite  useless  to  him  and 
he  cannot  get  breath  enough  without  immense 
difficulty.  Anthony  is  going  down  to  wait 
near  him  awhile.  Poor  Sterling !  I  fear  the 
worst.  Robertson,  they  say,  is  in  Sutherland, 
marking:  out  the  site  of  Free  Kirks.  Go 
ahead ! 

Jamie's  letter  was  very  gratifying  and 
satisfactory  ;  certainly  we  will  take  a  couple 
more  of  Annandale  hams.  I  will  write  to 
him  more  specially  on  the  subject  very  soon. 


TO  MRS.   HANNING  175 

Isabella  too  is  in  the  way  of  shower  baths 
and  better :  Bravely  that  is  good.  Did  any 
of  you  write  to  Alick  by  this  mail  ?  Jane  is 
well  again  from  her  bit  of  headaches.  Bless- 
ings on  my  Mother  and  you  all. 

T. 


In  1844  there  was  "  no  Scotland  "  for  Car- 
lyle,  but  early  in  September  he  went  to  Mr. 
and  Lady  Harriet  Baring  at  the  Grange. 
The  Baring  friendship  had  begun  to  rise  into 
his  life,  —  not  yet  in  the  form  of  a  cloud. 

All  the  rest  of  the  year  Carlyle  stayed 
closely  at  home,  working  on  Cromwell,  and 
seeing  fewer  people  than  usual.  The  follow- 
ing quaint  fragment  belongs  to  this  period, 
from  which  Froude  has  preserved  none  of 
Carlyle's  letters  or  journal  record. 


XXXII.     CARLYLE    TO   MRS.    HANNING. 

Chelsea,  16th  Dec.  1844. 

Dear  Jenny,  —  I  dare  say  you  can  knit 

Wristikins.     It  has  struck  me  in  these  cold 

days  I  might  as  well  apply  to  you  to  have  a 

pair.     The  best  pair  I  yet  have  is  a  very  old 

pair  now,  which  either  you,  or  I  think  Jean, 


176  LETTERS  OF  CAELYLE 

knit  for  me  at  Hoddam  Hill  when  you  were 
little  bairns  many  years  ago.  They  have 
beautiful  stripes  of  red  yet,  as  fresh  as  ever. 
In  fact  I  sometimes  wear  them  in  preference 
to  the  pair  Jane  has  bought  for  me  out  of 
the  shops  here.  Being  already  provided  as 
you  see  I  will  not  in  the  least  hurry  you  as  to 
the  matter  —  wait  till  you  have  leisure,  till 
you  can  get  right  your  colors  &c.  &c.  —  only 
I  will  tell  you  what  kind  of  thing  will  suit 
me  and  how  you  can  do  it  when  convenient. 
The  great  defect  of  all  my  present  wristikins 
is  that  they  are  too  slight,  too  thin,  and  do 
not  fill  up  the  cuff  of  the  coat,  which  is 
rather  wide  with  me.  They  should  be  at 
least  double  the  common  thickness  of  those  in 
the  shops.  If  you  had  fine,  boozy  yarn  and 
took  it  two  ply  it  will  make  a  pretty  article. 
Then  as  to  color,  it  should  be  deep  for  our 
reeky  atmosphere  here  ;  red  is  beautiful,  a 
stripe  of  good  red,  and  holds  out  well,  but 
perhaps  the  basis  had  better  be  some  sort  of 
brown.  Please  your  own  eye.  There  never 
was  a  good  horse  had  an  ill  color.  As  to 
breadth  I  think  they  should  be  at  least  three 
inches.  .  .  . 

The  horse  which  Carlyle  describes  to  his 


TO  HIS  MOTHER  177 

mother  as  "  a  very  darling  article  "  was  a  new 
one,  called  "  Black  Duncan." 

Of  Addiscombe  Froude  writes  :  "  The  Bar- 
ings had  a  villa  at  Addiscombe,  and  during 
the  London  season  frequently  escaped  into 
the  Surrey  sunshine." 

XXXIII.     CARLYLE    TO    HIS    MOTHER,    SCOTSBRIG. 

Chelsea,  12tk  July,  1845. 

My  dear  Mother,  —  My  hurry  is  indeed 
great,  but  it  ought  to  be  greater  than  it  is 
before  I  neglect  writing  you  a  little  word  this 
week  as  I  did  last.  I  am  whipt  about  from 
post  to  pillar  at  a  strange  rate  in  these  weeks. 

Jack's  visit  to  you  was  a  welcome  piece  of 
news  here.  The  good  account  he  gave  of 
you  was  much  wanted.  We  are  very  sorry 
indeed  to  hear  of  poor  Isabella.  It  seems  as 
if  nothing  could  be  done  for  her,  and  her  own 
weakness  and  suffering  must  be  very  great. 
Jamie  is  kind  and  patient,  you  may  assure 
him  of  our  sympathies.  A  sudden  turn  for 
the  better  may  take  place,  I  understand,  as  of 
its  own  accord  all  at  once.  Let  us  keep 
hoping  the  best. 

The  back  of  this  sorrowful  Book  is  now 
broken.  I  think  another  month  of  stiff  labour 
will  see  it  well  through.     They  are  printing 


178  LETTERS  OF  CARLYLE 

away  at  the  second  volume  —  about  half 
done.  I  have  to  go  along  amid  endless  con- 
fusions, the  way  one  has  to  do  in  all  work 
whatsoever.  The  Book  will,  on  the  whole, 
be  better  than  I  hoped,  and  I  have  had  some 
honest  thoughts  in  the  writing  of  it  which 
make  me  the  more  careless  what  kind  of  re- 
ception the  world  gives  it.  The  world  had 
better  try  to  understand  it,  I  think,  and  to 
like  it  as  well  as  it  can  !  Here  is  another  leaf 
of  a  proof  sheet  to  be  a  token  to  you  of  our 
progress.  So  soon  as  ever  it  is  over  I  am  off 
for  Annandale.  The  heat  has  never  been 
very  oppressive  to  me,  never  violent  beyond  a 
day  or  two  at  a  time,  then  rain  comes  and 
cools  it  again.  I  get  considerable  benefit  of 
my  horse,  which  is  a  very  darling  article, 
black,  high,  very  good  natured,  very  swift  — 
and  takes  me  out  into  the  green  country  for 
a  taste  of  that  almost  every  day.  I  some- 
times think  of  riding  it  up  into  Annandale, 
but  that  will  be  too  lengthy  an  operation. 

Jane  is  going  to  Liverpool  to  her  Uncle's 
in  a  fortnight.  She  will  stay  with  them  a 
week,  then  another  week  with  some  country 
friends  in  that  quarter.  I  wished  her  to 
go  to  Scotland  and  see  old  friends  there  at 
Haddington  and  elsewhere,  but  she  is  rather 


TO  HIS  MOTHER  179 

reluctant  to  that.  She  is  not  very  strong 
and  has  many  sorrows  of  her  own,  poor  little 
thing,  being  very  solitary  in  the  world  now. 
In  summer  however  she  is  always  better. 

I  have  heard  nothing;  from  Jack  of  late 
days.  I  suppose  him  to  be  still  at  Mr. 
Raine's.  Perhaps  uncertain  whitherward  he 
will  go  next.  At  any  rate  country  is  better 
than  town  at  present,  —  free  quarter  than 
board-wages.  I  expect  he  will  come  back  to 
you  again  before  the  season  end. 

We  were  out  at  a  place  called  Acldiscombe 
last  week  among  great  people,  very  kind  to  us, 
but  poor  Jane  could  sleep  only  about  an  hour 
each  night  —  three  hours  in  all.  I  stayed 
but  one  night,  came  home  on  my  black  horse 
again.  Some  peace  and  rest  among  green 
things  would  be  very  welcome  to  me  —  and  it 
is  coming  soon,  I  hope.  Adieu,  dear  Mother 
—  my  kind  love  to  you  and  to  all  of  them.  I 
am  in  great  haste  and  can  speak  but  a  few 
words  to  mean  much  by  them.  My  blessings 
with  you. 


On  the  26th  August,  1845,  Carlyle  wrote : 
"  I  have  this  moment  ended  Oliver ;  hang  it ! 
He  is  ended,  thrums  and  all."    And  presently 


180  LETTERS  OF  CARLYLE 

the  author  joined  his  wife  at  Seaforth  near 
Liverpool.  After  a  few  days  there  with  the 
Paulets,  he  went  on  by  water  to  Annan  and 
his  mother.  From  Seaforth  again,  he  writes 
to  her  on  the  journey  Chelsea-ward. 

xxxiv.   carlyle  to  his  mother,  scotsbrig. 

Seaforth,  Liverpool, 

Friday,  17  Oct'r,  1845. 

My  dear  Mother,  —  I  hope  you  have, 
this  morning,  got  the  little  Note  I  pushed 
into  the  Post  Office  for  you  at  Lancaster,  and 
consoled  yourself  with  the  assurance  that  all 
the  difficult  part  of  my  journey  was  well  over. 
I  am  quite  safe,  and  in  good  quarters  here, 
since  yesterday  afternoon ;  and  will  now  write 
you  another  word  with  a  little  more  delibera- 
tion than  yesterday.  My  journey  hither  was 
altogether  really  pleasant :  a  fine  bright  day, 
and  a  swift  smooth  carriage  to  sit  in,  nothing 
wanted  that  one  could  wish  on  such  an  occa- 
sion. I  got  along  to  this  house  about  half 
past  four,  when  dinner  was  ready  and  a  wel- 
come as  if  it  had  been  home,  —  real  joy  to 
me.  It  has  all  gone  much  better  than  I  could 
have  expected  since  I  quitted  Kirtlebrig  and 
Jamie,  that  night. 

I  find  the  good  people  here  did  send  their 


TO  HIS  MOTHER  181 

carriage  for  the  Steamer ;  and  a  very  wild 
adventure  that  was,  and  much  better  that  / 
had  but  little  to  do  with  it,  and  could  plead 
that  I  had  forbidden  them  to  do  such  a  thing ! 
The  Paulet  carriage  went  duly  to  the  Clarence 
Dock,  after  inquiring  at  the  Steamer  Office 
too,  and  waited  for  the  Royal  Victoria  from 
half  past  8  on  Wednesday  night  till  past 
12,  when  the  Docks  close;  but  no  Royal 
Victoria  came !  She  did  not  make  her  ap- 
pearance till  noon  yesterday,  owing  to  fog  or 
wind,  or  what  cause  I  have  not  yet  heard,  — 
not  till  twelve  o'clock  yesterday;  when  the 
Paulet  carriage  was  again  in  attendance : 
but  of  course  there  was  no  guest  there  ;  the 
guest  was  advancing  by  another  much  less 
uncomfortable  route  !  On  the  whole  it  was 
a  good  luck  I  did  not  get  into  that  greasy 
Whale's  Belly  (as  I  call  it) ;  twenty-four 
hours  there  would  have  reduced  me  to  a 
precious  pickle  ! 

Our  journey  to  Lancaster  as  I  told  you 
was  decidedly  prosperous,  almost  pleasant 
thro'  the  moonlight  country,  with  plenty  to- 
bacco to  smoke  !  The  wild  solitude  of  Shap 
Fell  at  midnight  is  a  thing  I  really  like  to 
have  seen.  And  then  the  railway  yesterday 
was  all  the  welcomer,  and  the  daylight.     At 


182  LETTERS  OF  CARLYLE 

Carlisle  I  got  myself  a  pound  of  tobacco  from 
Irving,  so  do  not  fret  your  heart,  dear  Mother, 
about  that !  I  also  took  out  my  old  dressing- 
gown  there  and  wrapt  it  well  round  my  legs, 
which  was  useful.  A  small  proportion  of 
corn,  you  may  tell  Jamie,  was  still  in  the 
fields  here  and  there  all  the  way  ;  but  to-day 
and  last  night  there  is  a  rustling  tliuddening 
North  wind  which  must  have  dried  it. 

Dr.  Carlyle's  Dante,  which  he  was  very 
"  eager  upon,"  was  the  prose  translation  of  the 
Inferno,  so  well  done  that  many  readers  have 
regretted  that  the  translator  did  not  proceed. 

XXXV.     CARLYLE    TO   HIS    MOTHER,    SCOTSBRIG. 

Chelsea,  31  Oct'r,  1845. 

My  dear  Mother,  —  You  will  take  a 
short  word  from  me  rather  than  none  at  all, 
to  tell  you  that  we  are  all  struggling  along 
here  without  disaster ;  which  indeed  is  all 
that  is  to  be  told.  I  write  also  to  see  if  I  can 
induce  you  to  make  use  of  one  of  those 
Letter-covers  which  I  left,  and  to  send  me  a 
small  line  about  yourself  and  how  you  are. 
Except  one  short  line  from  Jamie  to  the  Doc- 
tor, I  have  heard  nothing  at  all  since  I  left 
you. 


TO  HIS  MOTHER  183 

There  has  been  no  rain,  or  almost  none 
whatever  since  I  left  Scotsbrig ;  so  that,  I 
hope,  tho'  your  weather  can  hardly  have  been 
so  favourable,  Jamie  is  now  over  with  his 
harvest,  and  fast  getting  all  secured  under 
thatch-and-rope.  The  Potatoe  business,  as  I 
learn  from  the  Newspapers,  proves  very  seri- 
ous everywhere,  in  Ireland  as  much  as  any- 
where ;  and  over  all  Europe  there  is  a  rather 
deficient  crop ;  besides  which,  the  present 
distracted  railway  speculation  and  general 
fever  of  trade  is  nearly  certain  to  break  down 
soon  into  deep  confusion,  so  that  one  may 
fear  a  bad  winter  for  the  poor,  a  sad  thing 
to  look  forward  to.  They  are  best  off,  I  think, 
who  have  least  to  do  with  that  brutal  Chase 
for  money  which  afflicts  me  wherever  I  go  in 
this  country.  "  Give  me  neither  poverty  nor 
riches,  feed  me  with  food  convenient  for 
me. 

Our  freedom  from  rain  has  not  hindered 
the  November  fogs  from  coming  in  somewhat 
before  their  time.  The  weather  is  not  whole- 
some, many  people  have  got  cold  in  these 
late  days.  I  advise  you,  dear  Mother,  to  put 
on  your  winter  clothing  and  be  cautious  of 
going  out  except  when  the  sun  is  shining. 
In  the  morning  and  evening  do  not  venture 


184  LETTERS  OF  CARLYLE 

at  all.     This  is  the  most  critical  time  of  all, 
I  believe,  these  weeks  while  the  change  to 
winter  is  just  in  progress.     I  thought  myself 
extremely  well  here  for  a  week  after  my  re- 
turn, and  indeed  was  so  and  hope  again  to  be 
so  —  much   improved   by  my  journey,  —  but 
last  Sabbath,  paying  no  heed  to  these  frost 
fogs,  I   caught   a  little   tickling  in  my  nose 
which  rapidly  grew  into  a  sniftering,  and  by 
the  time  next  day  came  I  had  a  regular  ugly 
face-ache  and  fair  foundation  for  cold  in  all 
its  forms,  which  required  to  be  energetically 
dealt    with    and    resisted    on    the    threshold. 
Next    day,    accordingly,    I    kept    the    house 
strictly  and  appealed  to  medicine   and   their 
diet,  and  so  on  Wednesday  morning  I  had 
got  the  victory  again  and  have  been  getting 
round  and  growing  nearer  the  old  point  ever 
since  — in  fact  reckon  myself  quite  well  again, 
except  that  I  take  a  little  care  of  going  out 
at  night  &c.     Jane  has  had  a  little  whiff  of 
cold  too,  but  it  is  abating   again.      We  are 
taught  by  these  visitations  to  be  upon  our 
guard.     The   Doctor   is   quite   well,    tho'    I 
think  he  sits  too  much  in  the  house,  being 
very  eager  upon  his  Dante  at  present. 

They  are  not  to  publish  the  Cromwell  till 
"  the  middle  of  next  month  "  —  about  a  fort- 
night. 


TO  HIS  MOTHER  185 

"  They  are  not  to  publish  the  Cromwell  till 
<  the  middle  of  next  month/  "  wrote  Carlyle  in 
the  preceding  letter.  As  a  matter  of  fact  the 
book  did  not  get  out  until  December. 

Carlyle  and  his  wife  did  go  to  the  Barings 
in  the  middle  of  November,  and  the  date  of 
the  following  undated  fragment  thus  swings 
between  the  1st  and  the  15th  of  November. 
Carlyle  says  here  that  they  were  invited  to  the 
Grange  ;  Froude,  that  Mr.  Baring  and  Lady 
Harriet  were  at  Bay  House,  in  Hampshire. 
"Grange"  is  probably  a  slip  of  the  pen. 

XXXVI.     CARLYLE    TO    HIS    MOTHER,    SCOTSBRIG. 

Chelsea  [1/15  November,  1845]. 

...  It  lies  perfectly  ready,  but  the  Town 
is  still  very  empty  ;  besides  they  are  getting 
ready  a  Portrait,  the  rudiments  of  which 
John  and  I  went  to  see  the  other  day,  but 
did  not  very  much  like.  I  fear  it  will  not 
turn  out  much  of  an  ornament  to  the  Book 
or  a  true  likeness  of  Oliver ;  but  we  cannot 
help  that.  Nor  does  it  very  much  matter.  — 
For  the  rest,  I  am  and  have  been  nearly  as 
idle  as  possible  ;  merely  reading  Books,  and 
doing  other  small  etceteras. 

There  is  an  invitation  to  go  down  to  the 
Grange  (where  I  was  the   other  year),  for 


186  LETTERS  OF  CARLYLE 

Jane  and  me  both,  "  for  a  few  days "  (per- 
haps three)  ;  but  I  think  it  is  not  certain 
whether  we  can  accept  in  such  a  state  of  the 
weather,  etc.  It  will  be  within  the  next  ten 
days  if  at  all.  We  are  very  quiet  here  at 
home  ;  hardly  anybody  yet  coming  about  us  : 
and  indeed  in  general  it  is,  the  fewer  the 
better,  with  us. 

I  cannot  yet  learn  with  the  least  distinct- 
ness whether  John  is  for  Scotsbrig  or  not ; 
but  I  continue  to  think  he  will  after  all  come 
down  and  plant  himself  there  with  his  Dante 
for  a  while.  I  have  fully  expressed  your 
wishes  to  him  in  regard  to  that ;  and  cer- 
tainly if  he  do  not  come  it  will  not  be  for 
want  of  wish  to  be  there. 

Jenny,  I  suppose,  is  home  again :  all  is 
grown  quiet  in  the  upstairs  rooms  !  My  dear 
good  Mother,  let  us  not  be  sad,  let  us  rather 
be  thankful,  —  and  still  hope  in  the  Bounty 
which  has  long  been  so  benignant  to  us.  I 
will  long  remember  your  goodness  to  me  at 
Scotsbrio-  on  this  occasion,  and  the  sadness 
that  is  in  it  I  will  take  as  inevitable,  —  every 
joy  has  its  sorrow  here.  .   .   . 

If  I  think  of  any  Carlisle  Tobacco  I  will 
send  word  about  it  in  good  time ;  if  I  send  no 
word,  do  not  in  the  least  delay  about  it. 


TO  MES.  HANNING  187 

"  In  February,  1846,"  says  Froude,  "  a  new 
edition  was  needed  of  the  Cromwell.  Fresh 
letters  of  Oliver  had  been  sent  which  required 
to  be  inserted  according  to  date ;  a  process, 
Carlyle  said,  '  requiring  one's  most  excellent 
talent,  as  of  shoe-cobbling,  really  that  kind  of 
talent  carried  to  a  high  pitch.' 

"  He  had  '  to  unhoop  his  tub,  which  already 
held  water,'  as  he  sorrowfully  put  his  case  to 
Mr.  Erskine,  '  and  insert  new  staves.'  " 

Other  editors  of  letters,  before  and  since, 
have  had  such  cobbling  and  coopering  to  do. 

XXXVII.     CARLYLE    TO   MRS.    HANNING,    DUMFRIES. 

Chelsea,  Monday,  29th  June,  1846. 

Dear  Jenny,  —  I  heard  of  your  arrival  in 
your  new  place  at  Dumfries  a  day  or  two  ago, 
and  on  Saturday  I  sent  you  a  newspaper  which 
I  suppose  you  will  receive  this  morning.  You 
will  understand  it  as  a  hasty  token  that  we  are 
in  our  usual  way  and  still  mindful  of  you, 
although  there  has  been  little  express  writing 
of  late. 

No  doubt  you  will  feel  a  little  lonely,  un- 
accustomed, and  now  and  then  dispirited  and 
anxious  in  your  new  situation.  Yet  I  do  con- 
sider it  a  very  fit  change  for  you  to  have  made, 
and  believe  confidently  you  will  find  yourself 


188  LETTERS  OF  CARLYLE 

much  more  comfortable  than  you  have  been 
in  your  old  place,  if  once  you  are  fairly  hafted 
to  the  new  one.  Do  not  be  discouraged,  my 
little  Jenny,  I  know  you  will  behave  always  in 
a  douce,  prudent,  industrious  and  wise  way, 
and  there  is  no  fear  of  you,  if  so.  You  will 
be  mistress  of  your  own  little  heart  at  any 
rate,  free  to  follow  your  own  wisest  purposes. 
I  think  you  will  gradually  find  work,  too, 
which  may  be  useful  to  you.  In  short  this  is 
a  fact  always,  in  Maxwell-town  and  in  all  towns 
and  situations,  —  a  person  that  does  act  wisely 
will  find  wise  and  good  results  following  him 
in  this  world  and  in  all  worlds ;  which  really 
is  the  comfort  of  poor  struggling  creatures 
here  below.  And  I  hope  you  understand 
firmly  always  that  you  have  friends  who  will 
never  forsake  you,  whom  all  considerations 
bind  to  help  you  what  they  can,  in  the  honest 
fight  you  are  making.  So  do  not  fear,  my 
poor  little  sister ;  be  wise  and  true  and  dili- 
gent and  do  the  best  you  can,  and  it  shall  all 
be  well  yet,  and  better  than  we  hope. 

Getting  into  a  new  house,  it  strikes  me,  you 
must  find  various  things  defective  and  not  yet 
in  order,  so  you  must  take  this  bit  of  paper 
from  me  which  James  Aitken,  on  Wednesday 
first,  will  change  into  three  sovereigns  for  you 


TO  MRS.   HANNING  189 

—  and  you  must  lay  them  out  in  furnitures 
and  bits  of  equipments  such  as  you  see  need- 
fullest.  I  know  nobody  that  could  lay  them 
out  better  and  make  more  advantage  of  them 
than  you  will  do,  only  you  want  to  consider 
that  this  is  a  supernumerary  thing,  a  clear  gift, 
and  that  your  regular  income  (which  John  said 
was  to  be  enlarged  —  whatever  he  may  have 
settled  it)  will  arrive  at  the  usual  time  inde- 
pendently of  this.  And  so,  my  blessing  with 
you,  dear  little  Jenny,  and  right  good  days  to 
you  in  this  new  dwelling,  —  right  wise  days, 
which  are  the  only  good  ones. 

I  have  owed  Jean  a  letter  this  long:  time. 
Tell  her  a  box  of  supplements  to  Cromwell 
(one  for  each  of  you  and  two  new  copies  of 
the  whole  book  —  one  for  my  mother,  the 
other  for  Jack)  will  reach  her  in  a  day  or  two, 
which  she  will  know  how  to  dispose  of.  For 
the  rest,  I  am  fast  getting  through  my  book, 

—  it  is  mere  tatters  of  work  now,  —  and  ex- 
pect to  be  off  northward  before  long.  North- 
ward we  do  mean ;  Jane  sometimes  talks  of 
being  off  this  week  and  I  to  follow  in  a  week 
or  two.  To  Seaforth,  Liverpool,  is  Jane's  first 
place.  I,  of  course,  will  soon  be  across  if  once 
there.     Good  be  with  you,  dear  sister. 

Yours  always,  T.  C. 


190  LETTERS   OF  CARLYLE 

Do  you  address  the  next  newspaper  to  us  if 
this  come  all  right.  That  will  be  a  sufficient 
sign  to  us. 

XXXVIII.     CARLTLE    TO    MRS.    AITK.EN,    DUMFRIES. 

Chelsea,  Saturday,  17th  October,  1846. 

Dear  Sister,  —  That  letter  for  the  Doctor 
reached  me  last  night  with  instructions,  as  you 
see,  to  forward  it  to  you.  There  is  another 
little  one  from  poor  little  Jane,  which  I  like 
still  better,  but  I  am  ordered  to  return  it  to 
my  mother.  Alick  is  going  on  very  tolerably 
and  seems  to  do  as  well  as  one  could  expect  in 
his  new  settlement,  —  somewhat  bitter  of  tem- 
per yet,  but  diligent  and  favoured  to  see  the 
fruits  of  his  diligence. 

We  are  extremely  quiet  here,  not  writing, 
or  expressly  meditating  to  write,  resting  in 
fact,  for  I  find  Chelsea  greatly  the  quietest 
place  I  could  meet  with.  This  long  while  I 
read  a  great  many  books  of  very  little  value, 
see  almost  nobody  except  with  the  eye  merely, 
find  silence  better  than  speech — sleep  better 
than  waking !  My  thoughts  are  very  serious, 
I  will  not  call  them  sorrowful  or  miserable;  I 
am  getting  fairly  old  and  do  not  want  to  be 
younger  —  I  know  not  whether  Jeffrey  would 
call  that  "  happy  "  or  not. 


TO  MRS.  AITKEN  191 

Our  maid  Helen  is  leaving  us,  invited  to  be 
some  Housekeeper  to  a  brother  she  has  in 
Dublin,  at  present  a  rich  trader  there,  "  all 
upon  float "  as  I  sometimes  fear.  Jane  is  busy 
negotiating  about  a  successor,  hopes  to  get  a 
suitable  one  from  Edinburgh  or  almost  to  have 
got  such.  You  have  not  written  to  me.  Tell 
Jenny  I  will  send  her  some  word  soon.  My 
kind  regards  to  James.  Good  be  with  you 
and  your  house,  dear  Jean.  Jane  is  out,  and 
therefore  silent. 

Ever  yours,  T.  C. 

Between  1846  and  the  spring  of  1849 
Carlyle  had  made  the  acquaintance  of  Louis 
Blanc,  John  and  Jacob  Bright,  and  Sir  Robert 
Peel. 

On  the  30th  of  June,  1849,  Carlyle  started 
on  a  journey  through  Ireland,  —  the  notes  of 
which  were  printed  after  his  death,  —  and 
returned  on  the  7th  of  August.  He  went 
directly  to  Scotsbrig,  where,  "  owing  to  cocks 
and  other  blessed  fellow-inhabitants  of  this 
planet,"  he  was  a  good  deal  disquieted.  In 
Scotsbrig  he  remained,  however,  till  the  end 
of  August. 


192  LETTERS   OF  CAELYLE 

XXXIX.     CARLYLE    TO   MES.    HANNESTG,    DUMFEIES. 

Scotsbrig,  18  August,  1849. 

Dear  Sister  Jenny,  —  Here  is  a  Draft  for 
your  money,  which  you  will  get  by  presenting 
that  Paper  at  the  Bank,  when  the  Martinmas 
Term  comes ;  I  wish  you  much  health  and 
good  industrious  days  till  the  22nd  comes 
round  again;  and  have  done  nothing  more 
gladly,  I  may  say,  in  the  payment  line  than 
write  this  little  paper  for  you,  ever  since  the 
last  was  written,  I  think.  It  gave  me  very 
great  pleasure  to  see  your  neat  little  Lodging 
and  thrifty,  modest,  and  wise  way  of  life,  when 
we  were  in  Dumfries  the  other  day.  The  re- 
ports of  all  friends  agree  in  testifying  to  the 
same  effect.  Continue  so,  my  good  little  sister, 
and  fear  nothing  that  can  befall.  Our  out- 
ward  fortune,  lucky  or  what  is  called  unlucky, 
we  cannot  command ;  but  we  can  command 
our  own  behaviour  under  it,  and  we  do  either 
wisely  or  else  not  wisely ;  and  that,  in  real 
truth,  makes  all  the  difference,  —  and  does  in 
reality  stamp  us  as  either  "lucky"  or  else  "un- 
lucky." For  there  is  nobody  but  he  that  acts 
foolishly  and  wrong  that  can,  in  the  end,  be 
called  "  unlucky ; ':  he  that  acts  wisely  and 
right  is,  before  all  mortals,  to  be  accounted 


TO  MRS.  HANNING  193 

"  luckv  :  "  lie  and  no  other  than  he.  So  toil 
honestly  along,  my  dear  little  Jenny,  even  as 
heretofore;  and  keep  up  your  heart.  An 
elder  brother's  duty  to  you,  I  trust  I  may 
promise,  you  shall  never  stand  in  want  of 
while  I  live  in  this  world. 

Take  the  next  Courier  (which  Jean  will 
give  you  for  the  purpose)  and  address  it  in 
your  own  hand  to  me  :  "  Care  of  John  Fer- 
gus, M.  P.  etc.,  Kirkcaldy,"  —  or  in  fact  if 
James  Aitken  write  that,  it  will  be  all  the 
same,  —  and  I  shall  need  no  other  sign  that 
you  have  received  this  Note  and  Inclosure 
safe.  You  can  tell  James  to  send  only  one 
Courier  that  way ;  but  to  direct  the  other  to 
Scotsbrig  till  further  notice. 

Our  Mother  and  I  got  well  home  on  Thurs- 
day ;  the  thunder  -  showers  hung  and  fell 
heavy  on  all  hands  of  us ;  but  we  escaped 
with  little  damage  from  them,  —  got  no  rain 
at  all  till  we  were  on  the  top  of  Dodbeck  (or 
rather  Daneby)  Banks  ;  which  rain  was  never 
violent  upon  us,  and  had  as  good  as  ended 
altogether  by  the  time  we  reached  the  old 
Gildha  Road.  Our  Mother's  new  bonnet,  or 
any  of  her  clothes,  suffered  nothing  whatever. 
There  had  been  great  rains  here  and  all  the 
way  ;  the  fields  all  running  brooks,  and  the 


194  LETTEBS  OF  CABLYLE 

road-conduits  hardly  able  to  contain  the  loads 
they  had.  It  was  a  good  deal  clearer  yester- 
day ;  yet,  in  the  evening,  we  had  again  a 
touch  of  rain,  which  I  saw  was  very  heavy 
over  in  Cumberland.  To-day  is  a  degree 
brisker  still,  tho'  with  remnants  of  thunder- 
clouds still  hanging,  so  we  fancy  the  "  Flood  " 
is  about  terminating,  and  the  broken  weather 
going  to  heal  itself  again.  Jamie  has  some 
cattle  rather  suffering  by  the  "  epidemic," 
which,  in  the  last  year,  has  destroyed  several ; 
his  bog-hay,  too,  is  of  course  much  wetted ; 
but  he  is  otherwise  getting  briskly  enough 
along1.  You  are  to  tell  James  Aitken  that 
there  is  "  an  excellent  spigot '  here  already 
for  the  water-barrel,  so  that  he  need  take  no 
farther  heed  of  that,  at  least,  till  he  hear 
again. 

I  could  not  quite  handily  get  packed  (owing 
to  Garthwaites  tailoring)  for  this  day ;  so  I 
put  it  off  till  Monday ;  and  am  fixed  for  that 
morning  (10  a.  m.)  to  be  in  Edinburgh  about 
one  o'clock  and  over  in  Kirkcaldy  in  good 
time,  where  Jane,  as  I  conclude,  is  arrived 
since  yesterday  and  expects  me  against  the 
given  time.  Give  my  kindest  remembrances 
in  Assembly  Street ;  what  our  further  move- 
ments from  Kirkcaldy  are  to  be,  Jean  or  some 


TO  MRS.  HANNING  195 

of  you  will  hear  in  due  time.  No  more  at 
present,  dear  Sister,  with  many  blessings  to 
you  all. 

Ever  your  Affectionate  Brother, 

T.  Caklyle. 

In  1850  the  Latter-Day  Pamphlets  were 
published.  In  spite  of  the  outcry  against 
them,  Carlyle's  regular  "  public  "  was  not  dis- 
turbed. Froude  estimates  that  about  three 
thousand  persons  were  then  buying  whatever 
Carlyle  printed. 

He  wrote  in  his  Journal  during  October  of 
the  same  year :  "  Four  weeks  (September)  at 
Scotsbrig :  my  dear  old  Mother,  much  broken 
since  I  had  last  seen  her,  was  a  perpetual 
source  of  sad  and,  as  it  were,  sacred  emotion 
to  me.  Sorrowful  mostly  and  disgusting, 
and  even  degrading,  were  my  other  emotions. 
God  help  me  !  " 

The  next  letter  concerns  the  departure  of 
Mrs.  Hanning  to  join  her  husband  in  Canada. 
It  is  the  only  one  in  this  collection  from  Mrs. 
Thomas  Carlyle.  "  Jane  "  is  Carlyle's  sister, 
Jean  Aitken,  —  Jane  only  by  courtesy,  he 
somewhere  says. 


196  LETTERS   OF  CARLYLE 

XL.  MRS.  THOMAS  CARLYLE  TO  MRS.  HANNESTG,  DUMFRIES. 

5  Cheyne  Row,  Tuesday  [spring  of  1851]. 

My  dear  Jenny,  —  I  sent  off  yesterday  by 
railway  to  Jane's  care  a  bundle  of  things 
which  I  hope  may  be  of  some  use  to  you  in 
your  preparation  for  departure.  They  are 
not  much  worth  as  they  are,  but  you  have  a 
great  talent  —  at  least  you  had  when  I  knew 
you  —  for  making  silk  purses  out  of  sows' 
ears,  a  very  valuable  talent  in  this  world.  For 
the  rest  what  can  I  say  to  you  but  that  I 
wish  you  good  speed  in  your  great  adventure, 
and  that  it  may  turn  out  even  better  for  you 
than  you  hope.  Decidedly  it  is  an  adventure 
in  which  you  ought  to  be  let  please  yourself, 
to  be  let  follow  the  guidance  of  your  own 
heart  without  remonstrance  or  criticism  of 
others.  It  is  my  fixed  opinion  that  between 
man  and  wife  no  third  person  can  judge,  and 
that  all  any  of  us  could  reasonably  require  of 
you  is  that  you  should  consider  well  what 
you  are  about  to  do  and  that  you  should  do 
nothing  from  secondary  motives.  If  it  be 
affection  for  your  husband  and  the  idea  of 
doing  your  duty  by  him  that  takes  you  from 
your  family  and  friends  so  far  away,  then  go 
in  God's  name,  and  may  your  husband  prove 


JANE   WELSH   CARI.YLE 


MRS.  THOMAS  CARLYLE  TO  MRS.  HANNING   197 

himself  worthy  of  so  much  constancy.  In 
any  case  you  will  have  no  cause  for  self-re- 
proach. But  if  it  be  impatience  of  your 
position  here  which  is  driving  you  away  from 
your  kind  old  Mother  and  all  the  rest  who 
love  you  so  well,  then  God  help  you,  my  poor 
Jenny,  for  you  are  flinging  away  all  the  real 
blessings  of  your  lot  for  an  imagination  of 
independence.  I  hope,  however,  you  are 
quite  justified  by  your  feelings  towards  your 
husband  in  leaving  all  to  follow  him.  You 
have  always  seemed  to  me  to  cherish  a  most 
loyal  affection  for  your  husband,  and  I  will 
never  believe,  however  appearances  may  be 
against  him,  that  a  man  can  inspire  such  an 
affection  in  the  wife  he  has  lived  years  beside 
and  yet  be  wholly  unworthy  of  it.  So  fare- 
well, dear  Jenny,  and  God  go  with  you. 
Affectionately  yours, 

Jane  Carlyle. 

Three  months  of  the  late  winter  and  early 
spring  of  1851  had  sufficed  for  writing  the 
life  of  John  Sterling.  Julius  Hare  and  the 
religious  newspapers  had  treated  Sterling 
as  a  poor  stray  lamb  from  the  Christian 
fold.  Hare  regarded  him  as  "a  vanquished 
doubter ; "  Carlyle,  as  "  a  victorious  believer." 


198  LETTERS  OF  CARLYLE 

"  Here,  visible  to  myself  for  some  while," 
wrote  he,  "  was  a  brilliant  human  presence,  dis- 
tinguishable, honourable,  and  loveable  amid 
the  dim  common  populations,  among  the  mil- 
lion little  beautiful  once  more  a  beautiful 
human  soul,  whom  I  among  others  recognised 
and  lovingly  walked  with  while  the  years  and 
the  hours  were."  Carlyle's  life  of  the  man 
whom  he  thus  looked  upon  came  out  like  a 
star  after  the  storm  of  the  "  Latter-Day  Pam- 
phlets." Full  of  a  kind  of  shining  peace,  the 
work  of  an  artist  perturbed  by  neither  con- 
troversy nor  any  need  of  "  buffeting  his 
books,"  the  Life  of  Sterling  is  one  of  the 
very  few  most  beautiful  biographies  in  Eng- 
lish. 

XLI.    JOHN   AITKEN   CARLYLE   TO   MRS.  HANGING,   HAM- 
ILTON. 

Scotsbrig,  27  June,  1851. 

My  dear  Jenny,  —  Mr.  Smellie  wrote 
punctually  to  tell  us  you  had  sailed  on  the 
27th  of  last  month  exactly  according  to  ap- 
pointment, and  that  he  had  seen  you  on  the 
day  following  some  twelve  miles  down  the 
Clyde,  having  gone  to  give  you  a  Brooch  you 
had  forgotten  in  his  mother's  house.  He  said 
your    berths   looked    very    comfortable,    and 


JOHN  AITEEN  CARLYLE  TO  MRS.  HANNING     199 

spoke  of  the  Clutlia  as  a  tight  good  ship, 
every  way  fit  for  the  voyage.  Almost  every 
day  since  that  time  we  have  had  westerly 
winds,  and  if  you  have  had  the  same,  your 
oyage  is  likely  to  be  considerably  longer 
than  you  anticipated.  I  hardly  know  whether 
to  write  by  this  week's  post,  or  wait  till  next, 
but  it  seems  best  to  err  on  the  safe  side,  for 
you  will  expect  to  find  a  letter  at  Hamilton 
whenever  you  arrive,  and  be  much  disap- 
pointed if  there  be  none.  My  writing  need 
not  be  otherwise  than  briefly,  as  we  are  all 
going  on  in  much  the  same  way  as  when  you 
left  us.  Our  Mother  has  been  uneasy  when- 
ever the  winds  were  sounding  loud,  and  once 
or  twice  she  has  taken  to  bed,  but  she  is  now 
at  least  as  strong  as  usual  and  moving  about 
in  the  old  way.  She  desires  me  to  send  her 
love  to  yourself  and  the  children,  and  kindest 
regards  to  your  husband,  and  bids  you  write 
without  delay  whenever  you  get  to  your  home 
in  the  far  West.  We  had  a  note  from  Dum- 
fries two  days  ago,  Jean  and  hers  are  all  well, 
James  as  busy  as  possible  with  one  thing  and 
another.  We  expect  them  here  next  week, 
and  hope  Jean  will  remain  a  few  days.  Mary 
was  here  on  Tuesday  last.  She  is  looking 
stouter  than  usual  and  things  seem  to  be  a 


200  LETTERS  OF  CARLYLE 

little  more  prosperous  at  the  Gill  than  they 
have  been  of  late  years.  I  was  there  very 
lately  along  with  Jamie,  who  went  to  purchase 
some  cattle.  From  Chelsea  we  heard  yester- 
day. Tom  is  busy  with  his  Life  of  J.  Ster- 
ling1, which  is  now  going  through  the  press. 
He  has  not  yet  decided  whether  we  are  to 
expect  him  here  or  not  this  season.  There  is 
one  of  the  Miss  Welsh's  of  Liverpool  staying 
with  them  at  Cheyne  Row. 

Little  Jamie  takes  this  with  him  to  Annan. 
I  need  not  add  any  more  except  to  mention 
that  Mr.  Goold  had  received  a  letter  from 
your  husband  to  you  addressed  to  his  care,  a 
short  time  after  you  sailed.  I  will  send  you 
a  paper  now  and  then  with  its  two  strokes  if 
we  continue  all  well. 

Our  Mother  sent  a  copy  of  the  second  edi- 
tion of  Cromwell's  Letters  to  Mr.  Smellie, 
the  week  after  you  sailed,  and  had  an  acknow- 
ledgement from  him.  She  wished  him  to 
have  some  memorial  from  her,  for  all  his 
kindness  to  you  in  looking  after  your  berths, 
etc.,  etc. 

Ever  yours  affectionately, 

J.  A.  Carlyle. 

The  following  letter,  interesting  as  it  is, 


TO  ALEXANDER   CARLYLE  201 

jars  a  little  on  the  homely  calm  of  the  series. 
The  Exhibition  and  the  "  glass  palace  "  need 
no  explanation.  Church  and  State  are  still 
English  facts. 

XLIT.  CARLYLE  TO  ALEXANDER  CARLYLE,  CANADA. 

Chelsea,  24  OcCr,  1851. 

My  dear  Brother,  —  About  a  fortnight 
ago  I  wrote  to  you  intimating  that  I  would 
soon  send  a  copy  of  a  Book  called  Life  of 
John  Sterling,  which  was  just  about  coming 
out,  and  also  that  I  would  write  soon  again. 
Last  week,  in  good  time  for  the  mail,  said 
Life  of  Sterling  did  accordingly  set  out 
towards  you.  On  enquiring  practically  I 
found  such  a  feat  was  now  quite  handy.  If 
the  Book  weighs  under  one  pound,  it  will  go 
to  Canada  or  from  it  for  a  shilling ;  if  under 
two  pounds  and  above  one,  you  must  pay 
two  shillings,  (in  stamps  always),  and  so  on 
for  other  weights.  It  is  an  immense  conven- 
ience  and  I  design  if  I  live  to  make  use  of  it 
on  other  occasions  on  your  behalf.  If  all 
went  right  the  book  will  reach  you  about  a 
week  before  this  present  letter,  if  it  do  not, 
write  to  me  and  I  will  take  some  order  in  the 
matter.  If  it  do  come  rightly  you  may  send 
me  an  old  newspaper  addressed  in  your  hand. 


202  LETTERS  OF  CAELYLE 

That  will  be  announcement  enough  for  the 
purpose,  and  so  we  have  finished  this  affair  of 
the  Book,  let  us  hope. 

Since  I  wrote  last  our  "Exhibition"   has 
dissolved  itself,  all  gone  or  going  to  the  four 
winds,  and  on  our  streets  there  is  a  blessed 
tranquillity  in  comparison.     London  is  of  all 
the  year  stillest  at  this  season  or  a  little  ear- 
lier.   All  one's  acquaintances  are  in  the  coun- 
try, two  or  three   hundred  thousand  of   the 
inhabitants  are  in  the  country.     Now  is  the 
time  for  a  little  study,  for  a  little  private 
meditation  and  real  converse  with  one's  self 
—  a  thing  not  to  be  neglected,  however  little 
pleasant  it  be.     The  days  are  getting  foggy, 
a   kind  of   dusky,   s£oon/-looking,   dry  fog, 
dimmed  with  much  thin  reek  over  and  above, 
not  an  exhilarating  element  at  all,  but  it  is 
very  quiet  comparatively  and  one  ought  to  be 
thankful.     I  often  think  I  will  go  into  the 
country  to  live,  out  of  this  dirty  reek  and 
noise,  but  I  am  very  feckless   for  making 
changes  and   find  all   countries   (Annandale 
itself)  grown  very  solitary  and  questionable 
to    me.      "  Busy,   busy,   be   busy   with   thy 
WOrk  :  "  —  let  that  in  the  meanwhile  suffice 
as  commandment  for  me. 

Within  the  week  I  have  news  from  Scots- 


TO  ALEXANDER   CARLYLE  203 

brig.  Our  dear  old  Mother  was  reported  well 
(for  her)  "  better  than  when  I  was  there." 
Jack  being  now  with  her,  that  is  always  a 
considerable  fact  in  her  favor.  The  good 
old  woman,  she  can  do  wonderfully  when 
things  go  perfectly  "straight,"  but  a  small 
matter  is  now  sufficient  to  over-set  her.  She 
can  read,  the  whole  day  if  she  have  any  Book 
worth  reading,  and  her  appetite  for  reading 
is  not  at  all  sickly  or  squeamish,  but  can 
eagerly  welcome  almost  anything  that  has,  on 
any  subject,  a  glimmering  of  human  sense  in 
it.  Jamie's  harvest  is  well  over,  a  rather 
superior  crop  for  quality,  the  quantity  about 
an  average,  that  is  the  account  he  gives  — 
and  indeed  it  is  the  general  account  of  the 
country  this  year.  Trade  is  good  this  year 
or  more  back ;  so  that  numbers  of  the  people 
are  or  might  be  well  off  (tho'  I  think  they 
mainly  waste  their  superior  wages)  and  huge 
multitudes  of  vagrant,  distressed  wretches  are 
to  be  found  everywhere  even  now.  What 
will  there  be  when  "  trade,"  as  it  soon  will  do, 
takes  another  turn.  Strolling  Irish,  hawk- 
ing, begging,  doing  all  kinds  of  coarse  labour, 
are  getting  daily  more  abundant  —  unhappy 
beings  !  We  hear  from  the  Newspapers  much 
absurd  talk  about  the  "Millions  that  have 


204  LETTERS  OF  CABLYLE 

emigrated  to  America."  Alas,  it  has  been 
to  England  and  Scotland  that  they  have  "  emi- 
grated," as  anybody  but  a  Stump  Orator  or 
Newspaper  Editor  might  see  —  and  they  will 
prod  nee  their  effects  here  by  and  by!  —  On 
the  whole,  dear  Brother,  you  are  right  happy 
to  have  got  out  of  this  horrible  welter  into 
a  quiet  garden  of  your  own  over  the  sea. 
There  are  times  coming  here,  and  rushing  on 
with  ever  faster  speed,  though  unnoticed  by 
the  "  glass  palace  "  sages  and  their  followers, 
such  as  none  of  us  have  ever  seen  for  vio- 
lence and  misery.  Church  and  State  and  all 
the  arrangements  of  a  rotten  society,  often 
seem  to  me  as  if  they  were  not  worth  20 
years'  purchase  and  the  thing  that  will  first 
follow  them  is  nearly  certain  to  be  greatly 
icorse  than  they.  God  mend  it.  We  can 
do  nothing  for  it  but  try  if  possible  to  mind 
our  own  work  in  the  middle  of  it. 

There  came  a  letter  lately  from  Sister 
Jenny  which  reports  of  you  at  Bield  in  a  very 
interesting:  and  cheering  fashion.  You  are 
not  much  changed  except  (like  myself)  a  little 
whiter  in  the  hcqyrits.  Tom  is  a  stout  handy 
looking  fellow,  not  too  tall.  Jane  a  douce 
tidy  lass,  in  short  "you  look  all  very  com- 
fortable   on   your   two    farms."       We    were 


TO  ALEXANDER   CABLYLE  205 

thankful  enough  for  such  a  pictorial  report, 
I  need  not  tell  you.  As  to  Jenny  herself 
there  seem  good  omens  too,  and  we  hope  her 
husband  and  she  may  now  do  well,  his  follies 
having"  stilled  themselves  with  advance  of 
years.  At  all  events  she  will  be  more  content 
than  in  Dumfries  in  her  old  position  :  there  it 
was  clear  enough  she  could  not  abide  much 
longer.  That  she  is  near  you  on  any  emer- 
gency is  a  great  comfort  to  our  Mother  and 
the  rest  of  us. 

Adieu,  dear  Brother,  I  did  not  mean  to 
write  so  much  to-day,  being  hurried  enough 
with  many  things.  Jane  sends  her  love  to 
her  namesake  and  to  you  all.  I  wish  you 
would  buy  Tom  an  American  copy  of  one  of 
my  books,  (Translation  of  W.  Meister  ? 
No?),  and  give  it  him  as  a  memento  of  me 
and  you,  some  time  when  his  behaviour  is  at 
the  best.  Assure  him,  at  any  rate,  of  my 
hearty  regard,  him  and  all  the  household. 
My  blessing  with  you  all. 

Affectionately, 

T.  Carlyle. 

By  1851  Carlyle  had  begun  to  think  seri- 
ously of  Frederick  the  Great  as  his  next  sub- 
ject, and  it  soon  became  evident  that  he  must 


206  LETTERS  OF  CABLYLE 

walk  in  whatever  footsteps  of  his  hero  were  still 
visible.  Carlyle  reached  Rotterdam  Septem- 
ber 1,  1852,  at  noon,  and  was  there  met  by  Mr. 
Neuberg,  —  "  a  German  admirer,"  says  Froude, 
"  a  gentleman  of  good  private  fortune,  resi- 
dent in  London,  who  had  volunteered  his  ser- 
vices to  conduct  Carlyle  over  the  Fatherland, 
and  afterwards  to  be  his  faithful  assistant  in 
the  l  Frederick '  biography."  Carlyle  returned 
to  England  in  October,  but  many  distrac- 
tions—  among  them  repairs  in  Cheyne  Row 
and  the  funeral  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington 
—  kept  him  from  starting  with  Frederick. 
During  the  winter  he  wrote  something,  and 
threw  it  aside.  On  the  13th  of  April,  1853, 
he  wrote  in  his  Journal,  "  Still  struggling  and 
haggling  about  Frederick." 

There  is  neither  struggling  nor  haggling, 
however,  in  the  letter  which  follows.  The 
"  Talbottypes "  mentioned  here  were,  like 
"  Daguerreotypes,"  dim  and  glimmering  pro- 
phecies of  the  merciless  photograph. 

xlin.   carlyle  to  mrs.  hanning,  canada. 

5  Cheyne  Row,  Chelsea,  London, 
22  Apl.  1853. 

My  dear  Jenny,  —  Though  it  is  a  long 


TO  MRS.  HANNING  207 

time  since  I  have  written  to  you,  no  mistake 
can  be  greater  than  that  I  have  forgotten 
you.  No,  no,  there  is  no  danger  of  that. 
My  memory  at  least  is  active  enough  !  But 
I  live  in  such  a  confused  whirlpool  of  hurries 
here  as  you  can  have  no  conception  of,  and 
always  in  poor  weak  health,  too,  and  in  cor- 
responding spirits,  and  for  most  part  when 
my  poor  stroke  of  work  for  the  day  is  done 
(if  alas,  I  be  lucky  enough  to  get  any  work 
done  one  day  in  ten,  as  days  now  go  !)  —  I 
have  in  general  nothing  for  it  but  to  shut 
up  my  ugly  cellar  of  confusions  and  address 
myself  to  the  task  of  being  silent  —  writ- 
ing no  letter  whatever  but  those  I  absolutely 
cannot  help.  That  is  the  real  truth  and 
you  must  not  measure  my  regard  for  you  by 
the  quantity  I  write,  but  by  quite  other  stand- 
ard. 

We  regularly  see  your  letters  here  and  are 
very  glad  indeed  to  observe  that  you  get  on 
so  well.  The  fits  of  ague-fever  you  had  at 
first  were  a  severe  introduction  and  began  to 
be  alarming  to  us,  but  I  can  hope  now  it  was 
only  the  hanselling  of  you  in  your  new  cli- 
mate, and  that  henceforth  you  will  go  on  with 
at  least  your  old  degree  of  health.  One  thing 
I  have  understood  to  be  of   great  moment 


208  LETTERS  OF  CARLYLE 

(indeed  I  am  sure  of  it),  in  the  Canada  cli- 
mate ;  it  is  to  take  good  care  that  your  house 
be  in  an  airy  situation,  quite  free  from  the 
neighbourhood  of  damp  ground,  especially  of 
stagnant  water,  and  with  a  free  exposure  to 
the  wind.  That  undoubtedly  is  of  great  im- 
portance. You  are  accustomed  from  sound 
old  Annandale  to  take  no  thought  at  all 
about  such  things,  but  you  may  depend  upon 
it  they  are  necessary  and  indispensable  con- 
siderations in  your  new  country.  I  beg  you 
very  much  to  keep  them  earnestly  in  view 
with  reference  to  the  house  you  live  in. 
Plenty  of  dry  wind,  all  marshes  &c.  at  a  dis- 
tance, and  there  is  no  more  danger  of  ague  in 
Canada  than  in  Scotland ;  that  you  shove  up 
your  windows  in  season  and  keep  your  house 
clean  as  a  new  pin  —  these  are  advices  I  need 
not  give,  for  you  follow  these,  of  course,  of 
nature  or  inveterate  habit,  being  from  of  old 
one  of  the  neatest  little  bodies  to  be  found  in 
five  Parishes !  In  all  remaining  respects  I 
find  you  have  chosen  clearly  for  the  better, 
and  I  doubt  not  are  far  happier  in  your  re- 
united household  than  you  ever  were  or  could 
have  been  in  Dumfries.  It  was  a  wise  and 
courageous  adventure  of  you  to  take  the 
Ocean  by  the  face  in  search  of  these  objects, 


TO  MBS.  HANNING  209 

and  all  your  friends  rejoice  to  learn  that  it 
has  succeeded.  Long  and  richly  may  you 
reap  the  rewards  of  your  quiet,  stout  and  wise 
behaviour  —  then  and  all  along,  under  cir- 
cumstances that  were  far  from  easy  to  man- 
age ;  and  God's  blessing  be  on  you  always, 
my  poor  little  Jenny !  I  hope,  too,  poor 
Robert  has  learned  many  a  thing  and  forgot- 
ten many  a  thing  in  the  course  of  his  hard 
fortune  and  wide  wanderings.  Give  him  my 
best  wishes,  temporal  and  spiritual.  Help 
him  faithfully  what  you  can,  and  he  (for  he 
has  a  kind  enough  heart)  will  do  the  like  by 
you  —  and  so  we  hope  all  will  be  better  with 
you  both  than  it  is  with  many,  and  continue 
to  grow  better  and  better  to  the  end.  I 
recommend  myself  to  the  nice  gleg  little  lasses 
whom  I  shall  not  forget,  but  always  think  of 
as  little,  however  big  they  grow.  My  bless- 
ing on  you  all. 

No  doubt  you  know  by  eyesight  whom 
these  two  Talbottypes  represent ;  mine  is 
very  like  —  Jane's  (done  by  a  different  pro- 
cess) is  not  quite  so  like,  but  it  will  serve  for 
remembrance.  I  begged  two  pairs  of  them 
awhile  ago  and  had  one  sent  to  Alick  [Jane 
slightly  different  in  his  set),  the  other  pair  I 
now  send  to  you  and  wish  only  it  were  some 


210  LETTERS  OF  CARLYLE 

usefuller  gift.  However,  they  will  eat  no 
bread  and  so  you  may  give  them  dry  lodging, 
that  is  all  they  want. 

I  heard  from  the  Dr.  at  Moffat  the  day 
before  yesterday.  He  reports  our  good  old 
Mother  being  in  her  usual  way  and  now  with 
the  better  prospect  of  summer  ahead.  Poor 
Mother,  she  is  now  very  feeble,  but  her  mind 
is  still  all  there  and  we  should  be  thankful. 
The  rest  are  well.  John  is  to  quit  Moffat  in 
July.     Jane  sends  her  kind  regards. 

The  White  mat  on  Jane's  lap  is  her  wretched 
little  messi?i-dog  "  Nero  ;  "  a  very  unsuccess- 
ful part  of  the  drawing,  that ! 

XLIV.    CAKLTLE   TO   MRS.    HAISTNING,    CANADA. 

Scotsbrig,  Ecclefechan,  28  Dec.  1853. 

My  dear  Sister,  —  This  letter  brings  very 
sorrowful  news  to  you,  probably  the  sorrow- 
fullest  I  may  ever  have  to  send  from  Scots- 
brig.  Our  dear  and  good  old  Mother  is  no 
more :  she  went  from  us,  gently  and  calmly 
at  last,  on  the  Sunday  just  gone  (Christmas 
Day  the  25th)  at  four  or  ten  minutes  past 
four  in  the  afternoon :  The  Dr.,  Jean,  Isa- 
bella, Jamie,  and  I  standing  in  sorrowful  rev- 
erence at  her  bed-side ;  our  poor  suffering 
Mother  had  lain  in  a  heavy  kind  of  sleep  for 


TO  MRS.  HANNING  211 

about  16  hours  before ;  and  died  at  last, 
rather  unexpectedly  to  the  watchers,  so  sud- 
den was  it,  without  struggle  or  seeming  pain 
of  any  kind.  We  had  to  think  "  Her  suffer- 
ings are  over ;  and  she  has  fought  her  fight 
well  and  nobly ;  and  as  for  us,  —  we  are  left 
here  alone ;  and  the  soul  that  never  ceased  to 
love  us  since  we  came  into  the  world,  is  gone 
to  God,  her  Maker  and  ours."  This  is  the 
heavy  news  I  have  to  send  you,  dear  Sister ; 
and  nobody  can  spare  you  the  sorrow  and 
tears  it  will  occasion.  For  above  a  year-and- 
a-half  past,  our  dear  Mother  had  been  visibly 
falling  fast  away ;  when  I  saw  her  in  August 
gone  a  year,  her  weakness  and  sufferings  were 
quite  painful  to  me ;  and  it  seemed  uncertain 
whether  we  should  ever  meet  again  in  this 
scene  of  things.  She  had  no  disease  at  that 
time  nor  afterwards,  but  the  springs  of  life 
were  worn  out,  there  was  no  strength  left. 
Within  the  last  six  months  the  decay  pro- 
ceeded faster  and  was  constant :  she  could 
not  much  rise  from  bed ;  she  needed  Mary 
and  Jean  alternately  to  watch  always  over 
her,  —  latterly  it  was  Jean  alone  (Mary  not 
being  strong  enough) ;  and  surely  Jean  has 
earned  the  gratitude  of  us  all,  and  done  a 
work  that  was  blessed  and  beautiful,  in  so 


212  LETTERS  OF  CARLYLE 

standing  by  her  sacred  task,  and  so  perform- 
ing it  as  she  did.  There  has  been  no  regular 
sleep  to  "her  for  months  past,  often  of  late 
weeks  and  days  not  much  sleep  of  any  kind  : 
but  her  affectionate  patience,  I  think,  never 
failed.  I  hope,  though  she  is  much  worn  out, 
she  will  not  permanently  suffer :  and  surely 
she  will  not  want  her  reward.  Our  noble 
Mother  too  behaved  like  herself  in  all  stages 
of  her  illness ;  never  quailed  into  terror, 
lamentation  or  any  weak  temper  of  mind ; 
had  a  wonderful  clearness  of  intellect,  clear- 
ness of  heart,  affection,  piety  and  simple 
courage  and  beauty  about  her  to  the  very 
end.  She  passed  much  of  her  time  in  the 
last  weeks  in  a  kind  of  sleep  ;  used  to  awaken 
"with  a  smile"  (as  John  described  it  to  me), 
and  has  left  a  sacred  remembrance  with  all  of 
us  consolatory  in  our  natural  grief. 

I  have  written  to  Alick  this  day,  a  good 
many  other  details,  and  have  bidden  him  send 
you  the  letter  (which  is  larger  and  fuller  than 
this),  —  as  you  probably  in  asking  for  it  will 
send  this  to  him.  I  am  in  great  haste,  to- 
morrow (Thursday  29th  Dec.)  being  the  fune- 
ral day,  and  many  things  occupying  us  still. 
I  will  therefore  say  no  more  here ;  your  little 
pieces  of  worldly   business  will,  I  hope,  be 


TO  MRS.  HANNING  213 

satisfactorily  and  easily  adjusted  before  I 
return  to  Chelsea,  and  then  it  will  be  some- 
body's task  (John's  or  mine)  to  write  to  you 
again.  For  the  present  I  will  only  bid,  God 
bless  you,  dear  sister,  you  and*  yours  ;  —  and 
teach  you  to  bear  this  great  sorrow  and 
bereavement  (which  is  one  chiefly  to  your 
heart,  but  to  her  a  blessed  relief)  in  the  way 
that  is  fit,  and  worthy  of  the  brave  and  noble 
Mother  we  have  had,  but  have  not  any  longer. 
Your  affectionate  Brother, 

T.  Carlyle. 

With  a  few  days  excepted,  the  Carlyles 
spent  the  whole  of  the  year  1854  in  London. 
There  was  little  but  the  Crimean  war  to  dis- 
tract Carlyle's  attention  from  his  long  strug- 
gle with  Frederick. 

Early  in  this  year  was  completed  the  much 
talked  of  "  sound-proof  room,"  of  which  the 
best  account  is  given  by  Mr.  Reginald  Blunt, 
in  his  little-known  book, "  The  Carlyles'  Chel- 
sea Home." 

"  The  arrangement  of  this  room,  which  was 
built  in  1853,  occupied  by  Carlyle  till  1865, 
and  afterwards  used  as  a  servant's  bedroom, 
is  clearly  indicated  on  the  plan  ;  whilst  Mr. 


214  LETTERS   OF  CARLYLE 

Tait's  photographs  (taken  in  1857)  give  an 
excellent  record  of  its  aspect.  Indeed,  it  is 
not  often  that  so  famous  a  literary  workshop 
has  been  so  faithfully  depicted  for  posterity. 
The  spacious  skylight,  which  drove  Carlyle  to 
despair  by  besrnutting  his  books  and  papers, 
gave  his  visitor  the  abundant  light  which  in- 
door photography  so  often  lacks,  and  the 
result  is  a  series  of  pictures  of  wonderful 
interest.  Mr.  Tait  was  good  enough  to  in- 
trust the  negatives  to  me  to  make  my  own 
prints  ;  and  it  was,  indeed,  a  fascinating  em- 
ployment to  resuscitate,  by  a  few  minutes 
of  exposure  to  light,  these  speaking  records 
of  the  dead  past  of  nearly  forty  years  ago. 
By  their  aid  we  have  little  difficulty  in  men- 
tally reconstituting  the  c  soundless  room '  as 
it  was  during  Carlyle' s  '  thirteen  years'  war  ' 
there.  Entering  by  the  door  at  the  head  of 
the  staircase  (a  second  door  opens  into  the 
cupboard  space,  though  for  what  reason,  un- 
less to  provide  a  means  of  escape,  is  not  obvi- 
ous), one  finds  immediately  to  one's  right 
hand  a  third  door  into  this  same  closet. 
Beyond  it,  against  the  partition  wall,  stood  a 
half-round  table  with  an  oilcloth  cover,  carry- 
ing books  and  papers  ;  above  it  hung  a  small 
portrait  of  Carlyle's  mother,  an  engraving  of 


THE  SOUND-PROOF  ROOM  215 

Frederick  on  horseback,  and  a  map,  pinned 
on  the  wall,  unframed.  On  the  north  wall, 
to  the  right  of  the  fireplace,  shelved  cup- 
boards were  fitted.  Over  the  square  white 
marble  mantelpiece,  with  its  '  merely  human  ' 
fireplace  and  white-tiled  sides,  hung  several 
small  sketches  and  engravings  around  the 
wooden  pulley-board,  to  which  were  attached 
the  lines  for  the  sliding-shutter  and  the  venti- 
lators. On  the  left  of  the  fire,  above  a  circu- 
lar silk-pleated  screen,  hung  a  paper  rack  and 
some  written  notes  on  Friedrich,  probably 
chronological.  On  the  mantel  stood  two 
white  china  candlesticks  and  a  small  bronze 
statuette  of  Napoleon.  In  the  further  corner, 
to  the  left  of  the  fireplace,  was  a  high  up- 
right cabinet  with  drawers  for  manuscripts, 
prints,  etc.  ;  and  on  the  western  wall  there 
were  bookshelves  to  right  and  left  of  the 
door  leading  into  the  closet  behind  the  par- 
tition. 

"Against  the  southern  wall  stood  a  low 
couch  with  loose  leather  mattress  ;  while  the 
eastern  side,  from  the  corner  to  the  door,  was 
occupied  by  a  long,  dwarf,  three-tiered  book- 
shelf, the  upper  half  of  which  was  filled  with 
the  works  of  Voltaire,  in  over  ninety  vol- 
umes.   Maps,  prints,  and  engravings,  relating 


216  LETTERS  OF  CARLYLE 

almost  exclusively  to  the  '  Life  of  Frederick 
the  Great,'  covered  the  available  wall  space  ; 
and  in  one  corner  stood  the  long  hooked 
pole  by  which  the  balanced  frames  of  the 
skylight  could  be  opened  and  closed.  Near 
the  fireplace,  a  little  to  the  left,  was  the  place 
of  the  famous  writing-table  on  which  so 
much  of  noble  work  had  painf  ill  birth.  The 
photograph  gives  so  exact  an  impression  of 
its  sturdy  frame,  its  broad  folding  flap,  its 
slightly  boxed  top,  and  back  drawers,  that  no 
further  description  is  needed  either  of  it  or 
the  solid  writing-chair.  Hard  by  stood  an- 
other little  table  on  castors,  which  carried  the 
books  in  immediate  use  (or  such  as  were  not 
on  the  floor  !),  while  behind  was  the  fourfold 
screen  on  which  were  pasted  near  a  hundred 
old  portrait  prints,  to  which  the  maker  of 
history  always  turned  for  insight  and  guid- 
ance in  depicting  his  characters. 

"  When  Carlyle  gave  up  the  use  of  this 
room,  after  the  completion  of  his  great  his- 
tory, the  pictures,  books,  and  furniture  were 
dispersed  elsewhere  about  the  house,  and  later 
visitors  will  remember  the  writing-desk  as 
standing  in  the  drawing-room,  the  cabinet  of 
drawers  and  little  table  in  the  dining-room, 
and  many  of  the  prints  in  the  hall,  staircase, 


MARGARET   A.   CARLVLE 
Carlyle's  Mother 


TO  MRS.  HANNING  217 

and  elsewhere,  as  indicated  in  the  Picture  List 
appended." 

The  30th  of  September  is  given  by  Pro- 
fessor Norton  as  the  date  of  Margaret  Car- 
lyle's  birth,  which  was  evidently  unknown  to 
her  children  when  the  following  letter  was 
written :  — 

XLV.     CARLYLE   TO   MRS.   HANNING,    HAMILTON,    C.   W. 

Chelsea,  8  April,  1855. 

Dear  Sister,  —  I  know  not  if  you  ever 
saw  our  lamented  Mother's  portrait  which 
was  done  at  Dumfries  a  good  many  years 
ago.  It  hangs  in  my  room  ever  since,  and 
has  been  very  sad  but  precious  company  to 
me,  as  you  may  fancy,  ever  since  the  Christ- 
mas day  of  1853 !  I  have  got  seven  copies 
taken  of  it  (done  by  the  machine  they  call 
photograph),  and  this  is  the  one  that  falls 
to  your  share.  I  can  well  believe  it  will 
be  very  sad  to  you,  dear  little  sister,  but 
sacred,  too,  and  very  precious.  You  can 
easily  get  it  framed  in  some  modest  cheap 
way ;  it  may  lie  in  the  cupboard  secure  from 
dust  till  then.  The  birthday,  "  30th  Sept.," 
was  not  quite  certain ;  Roodfair  in  the  year 
1771  was  held  on  the  "  25th  of  Sept.,"  and 


218  LETTERS   OF  CARLYLE 

whether  it  was  the  "  Monday  after,"  or  the 
"  Monday  before ':  (which  would  be  23rd 
Sept.),  there  was  diversity  of  recollection.  I 
myself  and,  I  think,  Jane  inclined  to  think 
"  after  ;  "  Jean  thought  rather  the  other  way  : 
so  no  date  was  put  upon  the  Tombstone,  — 
but  perhaps  you  yourself  have  a  better  re- 
membrance of  what  our  Mother  used  to  say 
on  that  point?  Alas,  we  cannot  settle  it 
now,  nor  is  that  the  important  thing  we  have 
lost  hold  of  in  the  change  that  has  happened 
to  us  all !  But  let  us  not  lament ;  it  is  far 
from  our  part  to  lament ;  let  us  try  rather  to 
bless  God  for  having  had  such  a  Mother,  and 
to  walk  always  while  in  this  world  as  she 
would  have  wished  we  might  do.  Amen, 
Amen. 

There  has  been  nothing  wrong  since  the 
Doctor's  sad  loss.  Jane  and  I,  in  particular, 
have  not  been  worse  than  usual,  though  I 
think  it  was  the  severest  winter  I  ever  ex- 
perienced (certainly  far  the  worst  I  ever  saw 
here),  and  has  lasted,  indeed,  almost  up  to 
this  time  —  "  real  spring  weather  "  being  yet 
hardly  a  week  old  with  us.  Sister  Jean  at 
Dumfries  got  a  bad  whitlow  in  one  of  her 
fingers  ;  and  the  thrice  unlucky  blockhead 
of  a  Doctor  she  got  there,  cut  away  three 


TO  MBS.  HANNING  219 

times  over  some  white  substance  he  saw, 
which  proved  to  be  the  sinew  (sorrow  on 
the  fool),  so  that  she  has  now  no  use  of 
her  (right  hand)  forefinger,  though  otherwise 
quite  recovered  again.  She  has  learned  to 
write  with  the  next  finger  and  makes  no  com- 
plaint. 

The  Doctor  is  here  for  sometime  back,  and 
I  think  may  likely  enough  continue  awhile, 
and  perhaps  draw  hither  as  his  main  place. 
He  lodges  only  about  a  mile  off  nearest  the 
town,  so  I  see  him  very  often  —  almost  every 
day  in  fact.  He  is  very  quiet,  patiently  com- 
posed, reads  Books,  writes  letters,  runs  about ; 
is  chiefly  occupied  hitherto  about  his  late 
wife's  affairs,  and  the  three  boys  (from  12 
to  16)  whom  she  left,  who  are  all  there  stay- 
ing with  him  (for  a  week  or  two)  just  now. 
Jane  is  pretty  well,  for  her,  and  sends  her 
kind  remembrances  to  "  little  Jenny."  I  am 
very  busy  with  work,  but  making  hardly  any 
way  in  it.  Give  my  best  wishes  to  Robert 
and  the  two  little  lassies  whom  I  remember 
so  well.  Send  me  your  own  address  (without 
"  Gunn,"  etc.,  in  it)  when  you  write  next. 
And  fare  right  well,  dear  sister  Jenny. 
I  am,  your  affectionate  brother, 

T.  Carlyle. 


220  LETTERS  OF  CARLYLE 

In  May,  1857,  Lady  Ashburton  died. 
Both  as  Lady  Harriet  Baring  and  as  Lady 
Ashburton,  she  had  been  a  friend  to  Carlyle 
but  a  cause  of  much  unhappiness  to  his  wife. 
Many  years  after  her  death  Carlyle  said  of 
her,  "  She  was  the  greatest  lady  of  rank  I 
ever  saw,  with  the  soul  of  a  princess  and  cap- 
tainess  had  there  been  any  career  possible  to 
her  but  that  fashionable  one." 

Carlyle  made  a  second  tour  in  Germany, 
in  August,  1857,  for  the  purpose  of  visiting 
Frederick's  battle-fields.  In  September  of 
the  next  year  the  first  volumes  of  the  book 
were  published.  In  December  Lord  Ash- 
burton married  again,  and  the  new  Lady 
Ashburton  became  a  fast  friend  to  both 
Carlyles. 

XLVI.     CARLYLE   TO    MRS.  HANTNTNG,  HAMILTON,  C.  W. 

Chelsea,  London,  7th  January,  1859. 

Dear  Jenny,  —  I  got  your  letter  acknow- 
ledging receipt  of  the  Book ;  I  have  more 
than  once  got  news  of  you  that  were  welcome 
since  I  wrote  last,  though  in  general  I  tried 
to  make  some  other  of  our  kinsfolk  give  you 
notice.  Indeed  I  have  been  inexpressibly 
busy  for  months  and  for  years  —  with  that 
frightful   Book,  and  other  burdens  that  lay 


TO  MRS.  HANNING  221 

heavy  on  me.  I  have  in  general  lived  per- 
fectly alone,  working  all  day  with  what 
strength  remained  to  so  grey  a  man,  then 
rushing  out  into  the  dusk  to  ride  for  a  couple 
of  hours,  then  home  again  to  Books,  etc.  It 
was  seldom  that  I  had  leisure  to  write  the 
smallest  note.  Indeed,  I  wrote  none  except 
upon  compulsion  —  and  never  wrote  so  few 
in  the  same  length  of  time  on  any  terms 
before.  I  am  again  busy  at  the  two  remain- 
ing volumes,  almost  as  busy  and  miserable  as 
ever,  but  I  cannot  go  on  thinking  of  you  (as 
you  need  not  doubt  I  have  often  enough 
done)  without  sometime  or  other  writing,  and 
here  has  the  time  at  last  come  by  an  effort  of 
my  own. 

You  must  take  this  enclosed  Paper  to  some 
Bank  (John  says  "  Any  Bank  in  Canada 
will  do,"  and  "  perhaps  even  give  a  pre- 
mium "),  the  Bank  will  change  it  into  Can- 
ada money  (with  or  without  "premium"), 
and  my  little  Jenny  is  to  accept  it  as  a  small 
New  Year's  Gift  from  her  Brother.  That  is 
all  the  practical  part  of  this  present  letter. 
My  blessings  conveyed  aloud  with  it,  if  they 
could  be  of  any  avail,  are  known  to  you  I 
hope  always  without  writing. 

Your  Messenger,  a   very   honest   looking 


222  LETTERS  OF  CARLYLE 

young  man,  called  with  the  photographs  of 
the  two  bairns  whom  I  could  hardly  recog- 
nize, such  strapping  Hizzies  were  they  grown ; 
this  is  a  long  while  since.  I  carried  the 
photographs  into  Annandale  with  me,  where 
also  they  were  interesting.  Mary  at  the  Gill 
now  has  them,  I  believe.  Give  my  affection- 
ate remembrances  to  the  originals  whom  I 
always  remember  as  little  bairns,  though  they 
are  now  grown  big.  May  a  blessing  be  on 
them,  whatever  size  they  grow  to ;  and  may 
their  lot  be  that  of  good  and  honourable 
women,  useful  in  their  day  and  generation, 
and  a  credit  to  those  connected  with  them. 
I  am  very  glad  to  hear  what  you  say  of  your 
household,  and  judge  that  you  are  doing  well, 
tho'  not  so  rich  as  some  are.  A  little  money 
before  one's  hand  is  very  useful,  but  much  is 
not  needed.  It  is  written  "  the  hand  of  the 
diligent"  does  find  chances,  and  "maketh 
rich,"  or  rich  enough.  Give  my  best  wishes 
to  your  Husband  —  my  best  encouragements 
to  persevere  in  well  doing. 

The  Dr-  was  here  a  while  ago ;  but  he  is 
off  to  Annandale  again.  He  has  four  step- 
sons, (children  of  his  late  wife,)  who  form 
his  main  employment  in  late  years  and  give 
him  much  writing  and  running  about,  with 


TO  MBS.  HANNING  223 

their  schooling  and  affairs.  The  Austins,  it 
was  settled  lately,  are  to  stay  in  the  Gill 
for  another  seven  years,  which  we  were  very 
glad  of.  Scotsbrig  and  the  other  farmers  are 
prosperous  —  a  good  time  for  farmers  owing 
to  new  railways  (I  think),  and  Californian 
gold,  which  are  resources  that  will  not  last 
for  ever.  Jean  and  hers  are  well.  Her 
eldest  son  Jamie  is,  since  some  months,  a 
clerk  in  a  good  mercantile  house  here  and 
does  very  well.  The  Doctor  his  uncle  pro- 
cured him  the  place.  My  Jane  has  been  very 
weakly  for  two  winters  past,  but  is  a  little 
stauncher  this  winter ;  a  great  blessing  to  us. 
I  sent  some  books  the  other  day  to  Alick's 
Tom ;  to  Alick's  self  there  went  a  Frederick 
at  the  same  time  as  yours,  but  I  have  heard 
yet  nothing  of  it,  tho'  I  persuade  myself  it, 
too,  is  safe.  My  love  to  them  by  the  first 
opportunity.     God  bless  you  all. 

T.  Carlyle. 

XLVII.     CARLYLE   TO    MRS.  HANNING,  HAMILTON,  C.  W. 

Chelsea,  London,  30  April,  1860. 

Dear  Sister  Jenny,  —  I  have  twice  had 

a  Newspaper  from  you  lately,  the  last  time 

only  two  days  ago ;   and  I  am  always  glad 

to  see  such  a  mark  of  your  remembrance, 


224  LETTERS  OF  CARLYLE 

and  understand  by  it  that  things  are  going 
tolerably  well  with  you,  or  at  least  not  going 
far  out  of  course.  I  would  write  oftener, 
and  I  hope  to  do  so  by  and  by  ;  but  at 
present  I  am  kept  at  such  a  press  as  you 
have  not  the  least  idea  of  ;  and,  for  months 
and  indeed  years  past,  I  have  had  almost  to 
cease  corresponding  with  everybody;  and 
have  not,  except  upon  compulsion,  written  the 
smallest  Note,  —  every  moment  of  my  time 
being  so  taken  up  with  another  dismal  kind 
of  "  writing  "  which  I  cannot  shirk.  It  is  of 
no  use  afflicting  you  with  complaints  of  what 
you  cannot  help,  or  with  pity  for  me  which 
could  do  no  good,  but  the  truth  is  I  never 
had  in  all  my  life  such  a  frightfully  undoable 
disgusting  piece  of  work  as  this  which  has 
been  reserved  for  the  end  of  my  strength,  and 
it  has  made  and  makes  me  now  and  for  years 
back  miserable  till  I  see  it  done.  I  stick  to 
it  like  death  and  it  shall  not  beat  me  if  I  can 
help  it.  No  more  of  it  here,  —  nothing  of  it, 
except  to  explain  my  silence  ;  within  a  couple 
of  years,  if  I  live  so  long,  I  hope  to  be  much 
more  in  case  for  correspondence  with  those 
whom  I  merely  think  of  with  affection,  as 
times  are. 

To-day  I  have  done  a  little  thing  which  has 


TO  MRS.  HANNING  225 

been  among  my  purposes  for  some  time, 
namely,  got  a  small  memorial  ready  for  you 
—  which  so  soon  as  you  have  read  this  note 
you  can  go  and  ask  for  and  so  conclude.  For 
the  paper  of  the  Messrs.  Coutts,  Bankers,  I 
conclude,  will  go  in  the  same  steamer  as  this 
Note  and  all  will  be  ripe  by  the  time  you 
have  done  reading.  You  are  to  go  to  the 
"  Bank  of  Upper  Canada,"  Hamilton,  to  say 
you  are  "  Mrs.  Janet  Hanning "  and  that 
there  is  £10  for  you  from  "Mr.  Thomas 
Carlyle,  London  "  —  upon  which  they  will 
hand  it  out  and  so  end.  It  is  a  great  plea- 
sure to  me,  dear  little  Jenny,  to  think  of 
your  getting  this  poor  fairing  from  me,  and 
stitching  up  for  yourself  here  and  there  a 
loose  tack  with  it  —  as  I  know  you  well 
understand  how  to  do.  Do  not  trouble  your- 
self writing  ;  address  me  a  newspaper  in  your 
own  hand  and  put  one  stroke  on  it,  that  will 
abundantly  tell  me  whatever  is  to  be  said. 

Your  kindred  here  and  in  Scotland  are  all 
in  their  usual  course.  Nothing  wrong  with 
any  of  them,  or  nothing  to  speak  of.  My 
own  poor  Jane  has  by  accident  hurt  her  side 
a  little  the  other  day,  which  annoys  her  for 
the  present,  but  we  are  promised  a  "  perfect 
cure  in  less  than  four  weeks." 


226  LETTERS   OF  CARLYLE 

The  new  year  took  the  Carlyles  to  the 
Grange  again.  "  Everybody,"  Carlyle  wrote, 
"  as  kind  as  possible,  especially  the  lady. 
This  party  small  and  insignificant ;  nobody 
but  ourselves  and  V enables,  an  honest  old 
dish,  and  Kingsley,  a  new,  of  higher  preten- 
sions, but  inferior  flavour." 

Visits  in  general,  however,  were  rarer  than 
ever  in  these  years  of  "  Frederick,"  to  which 
every  possible  moment  was  devoted.  Even 
Carlyle's  letters  to  his  kindred  had  grown 
fewer. 

XLVIII.    CARLYLE   TO   MRS.  HANNING,  HAMILTON,  C.  W. 

Chelsea,  London,  28  Feb'y,  1861. 

Dear  Jenny,  —  The  enclosed  bit  of  paper 
has  lain  here  for  some  days  back,  in  the  hope 
that  I  might  find  leisure  to  write  you  a  couple 
of  words  along  with  it.  With  or  without 
leisure,  I  had  determined  to  send  it  to-day, 
(Friday,  which  is  our  American  post  day), 
but  last  night  your  pleasant  little  note  from 
Hamilton  arrived  and  that  naturally  quick- 
ened my  determination.  No  man  in  all  the 
world  has  less  time  than  I,  for  these  many 
months  past  and  to  come,  and  I  write  no 
notes  at  all  unless  like  this  in  strictly  excep- 
tional cases. 


TO  MBS.  HANNINQ  227 

Your  account  of  your  laying  out  the  last 
little  New  Year's  gift  is  touching  and  beauti- 
ful to  me.  I  know  you  are  a  thrifty,  gleg 
creature  and  wise  thrift  is  becoming;  much  a 
rarity  in  our  time.  The  image  of  your  tidy 
household  and  of  the  valiant  battle  you  are 
fighting  far  away  is  worth  many  pounds  to 
me.  If  the  pinch  become  sharp  at  any  time, 
fear  not  to  apply  to  me.  I  know  you  are  a 
proud  little  soul  and  somewhat  disdain  not 
to  do  your  own  turn  yourself.  All  this  is 
right :  —  nevertheless  I  expressly  tell  you 
(and  pray  don't  neglect  it),  "  send  me  word 
when  the  pinch  threatens  to  be  sharp  "  — 
which  I  hope  it  will  not  be,  only  if  it  is  at 
any  time  observe  what  I  say  and  mean  here. 

We  are  getting  very  feckless,  Jane  and  I 
—  partly  by  advancing  years,  partly,  (in  my 
own  case),  by  such  an  unutterable  quagmire 
of  a  job  in  which  I  have  been  labouring  for 
about  10  years  —  and  have  still  at  least  one 
year  of  it  ahead  if  I  live.  Want  of  sleep,  I 
believe,  is  the  latest  form  of  illness  with  me, 
latest  and  most  frightful :  —  but  I  try  to 
dodge  it  and  have  still  (in  secret)  a  surpris- 
ing toughness  in  me  for  my  years.  Hope  is 
rising  too  as  the  hideous  months  of  a  job 
done  at  last  visibly  diminish. 


228  LETTERS  OF  CARLYLE 

All  the  kindred  in  Scotland  are  well  — 
under  date  three  or  four  days  ago.  The  Dr. 
is  spending  this  winter  in  Edinburgh  :  —  has 
still  no  hearth  of  his  own  but  lives  in  lodg- 
ings, shifting  about.  Jean  and  her  affairs 
are  prosperous,  thinking  of  "  buying  a  house" 
&c.  Jamie,  her  oldest  boy,  is  a  very  douce, 
well-doing  clerk  in  the  City  here  for  two 
years  past  or  more.  Young  Jamie  of  Scots- 
brig,  owing  to  health,  had  to  give  up  that 
and  is  now  with  his  father  thinking  to  be  a 
farmer.  Times  are  good  with  them  at  Scots- 
brig,  though  our  poor  brother  Jamie  is  in 
weak  health  and  silently  feels  his  "  hervist 
endit."  Poor  fellow !  still  I  send  my  good 
wishes  heartily  to  your  good  Robert.  I  am 
always,  dear  little  Jenny, 

Your  truly  affectionate, 

T.  Carlyle. 

In  April,  1861,  Carlyle  went  to  hear  Rus- 
kin's  lecture  on  "Leaves;''  and  in  August, 
1862,  highly  praised  to  Erskine  the  same 
writer's  "  Unto  this  Last." 

April  29,  1863,  Carlyle  wrote  thus  of  one 
of  Dickens's  readings :  "  I  had  to  go  yesterday 
to  Dickens's  Reading,  8  p.  m.  Hanover  Rooms, 
to  the  complete  upsetting  of  my  evening  habi- 


TO  MBS.  HANNING  229 

tudes  and  spiritual  composure.  Dickens  does 
do  it  capitally,  such  as  it  is ;  acts  better  than 
any  Macready  in  the  world ;  a  whole  tragic, 
comic,  heroic  theatre  visible,  performing  under 
one  hat,  and  keeping  us  laughing — in  a  sorry 
way,  some  of  us  thought  —  the  whole  night. 
He  is  a  good  creature,  too,  and  makes  fifty  or 
sixty  pounds  by  each  of  these  readings." 

Carlyle's  unfortunate  horse,  mentioned  in 
the  following  letter,  was  Fritz.  He  was  sold 
for  nine  pounds.  Lady  Ashburton  supplied 
a  successor,  whom  Carlyle  called  Noggs. 

XLIX.     CARLYLE   TO   MRS.    HANNING,    HAMILTON,    C.  W. 

Chklsea,  London,  13  Aug.  1863. 

Dear  Sister  Jenny,  —  It  is  a  lono;  time 
since  I  have  had  on  hand  to  send  you  the 
little  bit  of  remembrance  marked  on  the  other 
page,  but  I  am  held  in  such  a  ferment  of  per- 
petual hurry  and  botheration  here  and  have 
grown  so  weak  and  weary  of  my  sad  work, 
(till  it  do  end),  that  I  have  seldom  five  minutes 
to  dispose  of  in  my  own  way,  and  leave  many 
little  jobs  undone  for  a  long  time  and  many 
little  satisfactions  unenjoyed  for  want  of  a  bold 
stroke  at  them.  Finally  I  bethought  me  of 
the  Dr.  in  Edinburgh  and  he  has  now  got  me 
your  little  paper  into  readiness  for  sending. 


230  LETTERS   OF  CARLYLE 

I  understand  you  have  nothing  to  do  but  pre- 
sent it  at  the  Bank  and  at  once  get  payment. 
If,  (till  you  have  time  to  write  a  long  letter  of 
news,  which  will  be  very  welcome),  you  at  once 
address  me  a  Canada  newspaper  with  three 
strokes,  nothing  more  will  be  necessary  in 
regard  to  this  little  bit  of  business. 

I  expect  to  get  done  with  my  book  in  six 
or  eight  months.  0  that  I  saw  the  day !  I 
can  and  have  been  working  thitherward  with 
all  the  strength  that  I  possess,  to  the  hurt  of 
my  health  as  well,  but  I  calculate  when  the 
end  have  once  come  I  shall  begin  directly  to 
improve  more  or  less,  and  perhaps  by  degrees 
get  very  considerably  better  again.  I  had  an 
excellent  horse  who  had  carried  me  7  years 
and  above  twenty  thousand  miles,  his  hoofs 
were  got  spoiled  on  the  stone  hard  roads.  He 
came  plunging  down  with  me  one  day,  (not 
throwing  me  nor  hurting  me  in  the  slightest), 
—  a  most  decided  fall  for  no  reason  what- 
ever— upon  which  I  had  to  sell  him  (to  a 
kind  master  for  an  old  song),  and  for  the  last 
six  weeks  have  been  walking,  which  was  a 
great  enjoyment  by  way  of  change.  It  would 
not  do,  however,  and  since  about  a  week  I 
am  mounted  ^again  :  —  very  swift,  very  rough 
(in  comparison  to  my  old  friend),  but  good 


TO  MRS.  HANNING  231 

natured,  healthy,  willing  :  —  and  must  con- 
tinue adding  a  dozen  miles  daily  to  the  twenty 
thousand  already  done. 

We  have  had  such  a  winter  for  ivarmth  as 
was  never  seen  before,  not  very  healthy,  I  be- 
lieve, but  it  has  agreed  well  with  Jane: — and 
indeed  the  kindred,  I  think,  are  all  well.  Poor 
"  Wullie  Carlyle "  (if  you  remember  him  at 
all)  died  lately  at  Edinburgh,  an  old  man,  as 
we  are  all  growing  hereabouts. 

Tell  Alick  about  my  affairs  and  this  last 
news  you  have  had.  That  I  never  do  or  can 
forget  him,  he  need  not  be  told.  I  hope  your 
lasses  are  doing  well  and  that  Robert  and  all 
of  you  are  pushing  along  patiently,  faithfully 
as  heretofore. 

In  August,  1863,  Mrs.  Carlyle  fell  in  St. 
Martin's  Lane  and  broke  her  thigh.  The 
accident  resulted  in  long  illness  and  pain. 
During  the  spring  of  1864  she  grew  worse, 
and  in  March  was  taken  to  St.  Leonards. 
From  a  subsequent  trip  to  Scotland  she  re- 
turned in  October  to  Cheyne  Row,  "  weak, 
shattered,  body  worn  to  a  shadow,  spirit  bright 
as  ever." 

The  last  volume  of  "  Frederick  "  was  pub- 
lished in  April,  1865.     When  the  proofs  were 


232  LETTERS  OF  CARLYLE 

finished,  Carlyle  and  his  wife  went  to  Devon- 
shire for  a  few  weeks  with  Lady  Ashburton. 

L.    CARLYLE   TO   MRS.    HAJSTNING,    HAMILTON,    C.   W. 

Chelsea,  4  May,  1865. 

Dear  Jenny,  —  Two  or  three  days  ago,  I 
saw  a  letter  from  you  to  Sister  Jean  ;  which 
was  very  welcome  here,  as  bringing  more  defi- 
nite news  of  you  than  we  had  got  for  a  good 
while  before.  I  have  now  got  done  with  my 
Book  (a  copy  of  it  probably  in  your  hands 
before  this) ;  and  am  not  henceforth  to  be  so 
dreadfully  hampered  in  writing  a  little  note  to 
my  friends  from  time  to  time.  I  am  still  in  a 
huge  fuss,  confusions  of  all  kinds  lying  about 
me,  and  indeed  I  am  just  about  running  off 
for  Scotland  (to  Jean's,  in  the  first  place),  to 
try  and  recover  a  little  from  the  completely 
shattered  state  these  twelve  years  of  incessant 
drudgery  and  slaving  have  reduced  me  to. 
But  there  is  something  I  had  meant,  this  long 
time  and  here  it  is — just  come  to  hand.  In- 
closed is  a  Paper  which  will  bring  you  the 
amount  of  Dollars  for  <£20,  on  your  present- 
ing it  at  the  Hamilton  Bank.  If  by  way  of 
"identifying"  they  ask  you  who  sends  the 
money,  you  can  answer  with  my  name,  and  if 
further  needful,  add  that  the  Negotiator  for 


TO  MBS.  BANNING  233 

me  with  the  Edinr.  Bank,  was  Dr.  Carlyle  of 
that  City.  Nothing  more,  I  suppose,  if  even 
that  much  will  be  necessary.  Let  me  know 
by  return  that  it  is  safe  in  your  hand  (a  news- 
paper with  three  strokes  will  serve  if  you  are 
short  of  time  for  the  moment).  And  so  with 
my  best  blessings,  dear  little  Jenny,  accept 
this  poor  mark  of  my  remembrance. 

My  Jane  is  very  frail  and  feeble,  but  always 
stirring  about,  and  has  got  blessedly  away  out 
of  the  horrible  torments  she  had  (and  all  of 
you  had  on  her  account)  last  year.  Scotsbrig, 
Gill,  Dumfries,  Edinburgh ;  all  is  going  in  the 
usual  average  way  there.  To  you  I  can  fancy 
what  a  distress  the  removal  of  your  poor  little 
Mary  and  her  Husband  to  the  Far  West  must 
be  !  These  things  happen  and  are  inevitable 
in  the  current  of  life.  That  your  son-in-law 
is  a  good  man,  this  should  be  a  great  joy  to 
you.  Do  not  you  be  too  hasty  to  follow  to 
Iowa ;  consider  it  well  first. 

You  see  what  a  shaky  hand  I  have ;  you  do 
not  see  the  bitter  hurry  I  am  still  in  !  With 
kindest  wishes  to  you  and  all  your  household, 

Ever  your  Affectionate  Brother, 

T.  Carlyle. 

Carlyle  was  elected  Lord  Rector  of  the  Uni- 


234  LETTERS   OF  CAELYLE 

versity  of  Edinburgh  in  November,  1865 ;  and 
on  April  2,  1866,  spoke  his  inaugural  address 
at  Edinburgh,  of  which  the  best  account 
known  to  me  —  best  for  a  general  impression 
of  Carlyle  —  is  that  given  by  Mr.  Moncure 
Conway.  On  the  21st  of  April  the  news 
of  Mrs.  Carlyle's  sudden  death  was  brought 
to  Carlyle  at  his  sister's  house  in  Dumfries. 
The  epitaph  which  he  wrote  for  her  grave 
in  the  abbey  church  of  Haddington  ends 
with  the  words,  "  And  the  light  of  his  life  as 
if  gone  out." 

An  episode  of  the  time  when  that  light  was 
fading  will  remain  longer  with  some  of  us  than 
most  of  the  occurrences  of  Carlyle's  life.  Mrs. 
Oliphant  has  left  a  sketch,  done  with  very  few 
lines,  of  Mrs.  Carlyle  playing  Scotch  airs  "  to 
the  tall  old  man  in  his  dressing-gown,  sitting 
meditative  by  the  fire."  Carlyle  himself,  in 
his  Journal  for  December  3,  1867,  described 
the  last  of  these  occasions :  "  One  evening,  I 
think  in  the  spring  of  1866,  we  two  had  come 
up  from  dinner  and  were  sitting  in  this  room, 
very  weak  and  weary  creatures,  perhaps  even 
I  the  wearier,  though  she  far  the  weaker ;  I 
at  least  far  the  more  inclined  to  sleep,  which 
directly  after  dinner  was  not  good  for  me. 
'  Lie  on  the  sofa  there,'  said  she  —  the  ever 


"  THE  LIGHT  OF  HIS  LIFE"  235 

kind  and  graceful,  herself  refusing  to  do  so — 
'  there,  but  don't  sleep/  and  I,  after  some 
superficial  objecting,  did.  In  old  years  I  used 
to  lie  that  way,  and  she  would  play  the  piano 
to  me :  a  long  series  of  Scotch  tunes  which  set 
my  mind  finely  wandering  through  the  realms 
of  memory  and  romance,  and  effectually  pre- 
vented sleep.  That  evening  I  had  lain  but  a 
few  minutes  when  she  turned  round  to  her 
piano,  got  out  the  Thomson  Burns  book,  and, 
to  my  surprise  and  joy,  broke  out  again  into 
her  bright  little  stream  of  harmony  and  poesy, 
silent  for  at  least  ten  years  before,  and  gave 
me,  in  soft  tinkling  beauty,  pathos,  and  melody, 
all  my  old  favourites :  '  Banks  and  Braes,' 
'  Flowers  of  the  Forest,'  i  Gilderoy,'  not  for- 
getting '  Duncan  Gray,'  l  Cauld  Kail,'  '  Irish 
Coolen,'  or  any  of  my  favourites  tragic  or  comic. 
.  .  .  That  piano  has  never  again  sounded,  nor 
in  my  time  will  or  shall.  In  late  months  it 
has  grown  clearer  to  me  than  ever  that  she 
had  said  to  herself  that  night,  'I  will  play  his 
tunes  all  yet  once,'  and  had  thought  it  would 
be  but  once.  .  .  .  This  is  now  a  thing  infi- 
nitely touching  to  me.  So  like  her ;  so  like 
her.  Alas,  alas !  I  was  very  blind,  and  might 
have  known  better  how  near  its  setting  my 
bright  sun  was." 


236  LETTERS  OF  CARLYLE 

The  following  letter  is  shadowed  with  the 
death  of  Mrs.  Carlyle,  although  nearly  two 
years  had  passed. 

LI.     CARLYLE   TO   MRS.  HANNING,  HAMILTON,  C.  W. 

Chelsea,  14<A  February,  1868. 

My  dear  Jenny,  —  This  is  a  little  New 
Year's  gift  which  I  intended  for  you  sooner. 
It  (the  essential  part  of  it)  has  been  lying  here 
apart  and  wrapt  up  for  you  ever  since  Christ- 
mas time,  but  I  never  could  get  up  to  have  it 
made  into  a  banking,  portable  form  till  now, 
so  languid,  sad  and  lazy  have  I  been  !  The 
banks  all  close  at  an  earlier  hour  than  my 
walking  one,  and  it  is  rare  that  I  can  get  so 
far  into  town  in  time.  I  am  dreadfully  indis- 
posed to  writing,  and  even  my  poor  shaking 
right  hand  makes  continual  protest !  I  hope 
the  poor  little  Gift  will  be  welcome  to  you  and 
in  some  savings  bank  or  otherwise  be  inno- 
cently waiting  to  do  you  good  some  time  or 
other  !  —  I  am  told  there  will  be  no  difficulty 
for  you  at  the  "  Gore  Bank "  in  Hamilton 
merely  to  go  thither  and  sign  your  name.  A 
newspaper  with  three  strokes  will  sufficiently 
announce  it  for  me  till  you  have  leisure  for 
writing.  I  have  also  sent  a  photograph  for 
nephew  Tom's  young  wife,  to  whom,  with  all 


THOMAS  CARLYLE 


TO  MRS.  HANNING  237 

my  affectionate  regards  to  them  both,  pray 
send  it  by  your  first  opportunity.  There  is 
another  (if  the  letter  will  carry  it),  for  your- 
self for  your  own  free  disposal  otherwise. 

I  am  not  specially  in  worse  health  than 
usual,  but  excessively  languid,  dispirited, 
weary,  sad  and  idle  —  especially  in  the  late 
dark  months  of  winter,  which  however  are 
now  gone,  and  indeed  were  never  severe  but 
lighter  upon  us  than  common.  Jean  has 
been  here  ever  since  early  in  December.  It 
makes  the  house  a  little  less  lonesome  to  me 
than  it  has  become  for  the  last  twenty  two 
months,  but  cannot,  as  you  may  imagine,  lift 
the  heavy  heart  of  me  into  anything  of 
cheeriness,  nor  indeed  perhaps  should  it. 
She  will  go  home  by  Liverpool  before  long, 
where  her  son  Jim  (who  is  a  clever  solid  fel- 
low and  has  got  promotion  in  Liverpool)  is 
just  setting  up  house  with  his  sister  Maggie 
as  Manageress.  Their  mother  will  look  in  so 
soon  as  they  have  the  home  settled.  All 
kinds  of  business  are  reported  as  utterly  dull 
here ;  much  distress  among  the  idle  poor  — 
and  a  general  silent  anxiety  as  to  this  new 
"  Reform  Bill  "  or  "  Leap  in  the  dark,"  — 
poor  stupid  souls ! 

An  extremely  accursed  atrocity  of  murder 


238  LETTERS  OF  CABLYLE 

and  worse  has  happened  in  Cummertrees, 
which  has  thrown  all  the  community  into 
horror  and  excitation  —  of  which  you  will 
see  or  hear  soon  enough  in  the  newspapers 
and  probably  know  the  location  as  I  do. 
Your  kindred  in  Annandale  and  here  are  all 
well  and  I  can  send  their  best  regards. 
Ever  your  affectionate  brother, 

T.  Carlyle. 

In  October,  1868,  Carlyle  was  again  thrown, 
—  this  time  from  a  horse  named  Comet.  A 
conversation  with  the  Queen,  the  death  of 
Mr.  Erskine  of  Linlathen,  and  a  letter  to 
the  Times  newspaper  on  the  Franco-Prussian 
war  were  among  the  events  of  the  next  few 
years. 

Carlyle  speaks  again  now  of  his  shaking 
right  hand.  A  few  weeks  after  he  quite  lost 
the  use  of  it  for  writing  with  a  pen.  "  Mary 
Aitken,"  ready  to  write  to  his  dictation,  was 
Mary  Carlyle  Aitken,  daughter  to  his  sister 
Jean. 

LU.    CABLYLE   TO   MRS.  HANGING,  HAMILTON",  C.  W. 

5  Cheyne  Row,  Chelsea,  13  Feb.  1871. 
My  dear  Sister  Jenny,  —  Here  is  a  little 
bit  of  a  present  which  you  must  accept  from 


TO  MBS.  HANNING  239 

me  ;  it  was  intended  for  the  New  Year's  time, 
but  has  been  belated ;  which  will  do  it  no 
great  ill  with  you.  Buy  yourself  something 
nice  with  it ;  and  consider  at  all  times  that 
my  affectionate  best  wishes  are  with  you ; 
and  that  if  I  could  in  any  way  do  you  a  use- 
ful kindness,  I  gladly  would. 

We  get  a  good  few  Canada  newspapers 
from  you ;  welcome  tokens  of  your  remem- 
brance :  in  one  of  the  last,  there  was  a  very 
melancholy  item  of  news  marked  by  your 
hand,  —  the  death  of  your  dear  little  grand- 
child, poor  Mary's  Bairn  ;  we  conceived  pain- 
fully how  sad  it  must  have  made  you  all ; 
and  were  ourselves  sad  and  sorry.  Poor 
Mary,  she  was  herself  a  child  when  I  saw  her 
last,  and  she  is  now  a  bereaved  mother :  — 
Death  snatches  us  from  one  another  at  all 
ages !  I  often  think  with  silent  gratitude  to 
Providence  how  gently  we  older  ones  have 
been  dealt  with  in  this  respect ;  saved,  a 
whole  family  of  us,  for  so  many  years ;  none 
lost  but  poor  Margaret,  (very  dear,  and  very 
sacred  to  me  at  this  hour),  and  a  wee  wee 
Jenny  whom  you  never  saw,  but  whose  death, 
and  my  mother's  unappeasable  grief  for  it, 
are  still  strangely  present  to  me,  after  near 
seventy  years.     All  we  can  say  is,  both  the 


240  LETTERS  OF  CABLYLE 

Living  and  the  Dead  are  with  God ;  and  we 
have  to  obey,  and  be  of  hope. 

You  regret  sometimes  that  I  do  not  write 
to  you ;  but  it  is  not  my  blame,  it  is  my  mis- 
fortune rather.  For  rather  above  five  years 
past  my  right  hand  has  been  getting  useless 
for  writing,  (the  left  strangely  enough,  is  still 
steady,  and  holds  good) ;  the  weight  of  years, 
too,  75  of  them  gone  December  last,  presses 
heavy  on  me ;  and  all  work,  but  most  espe- 
cially all  kinds  of  writing,  are  a  thing  I  avoid 
as  sorrowfully  disagreeable.  Mary  Aitken, 
who  drives  an  admirable  pen,  is  indeed  ever 
willing  to  be  "  dictated ':  to ;  and  I  do,  in 
cases  of  necessity,  trust  that  method ;  but 
find,  on  the  whole,  that  it  never  will  succeed 
with  me. 

From  the  Dr.  and  from  Jean  I  believe  you 
get  all  the  news  that  are  worth  writing ;  and 
that  is  the  main  interest  in  the  matter. 

The  Dr.  is  in  Edinburgh  of  late  weeks,  and 
seems  to  be  enjoying  himself  among  old 
friends  :  —  and  finds  it,  no  doubt,  a  pleasant 
and  useful  interruption  of  his  Dumfries  soli- 
tude, to  which  he  will  return  with  fresh  appe- 
tite. He  is  much  stronger  and  cheerier  than 
I ;  five  years  younger,  and  at  least  twice  five 
lighter  of  heart.    He  has  an  excellent  lodging 


TO  MRS.  HANNING  241 

at  Dumfries  yonder ;  and  is  of  much  service 
to  all  the  kindred ;  every  one  of  whom  he  is 
continally  ready  to  help.  Mary  Aitken  has 
been  here  with  me  above  two  years :  —  a 
bright  little  soul,  writing  for  me,  trying  to  be 
useful  and  cheerful  to  me.  I  have  plenty  of 
friends  here  ;  but  none  of  them  do  me  much 
good,  except  by  their  evident  good-will ;  com- 
pany in  general  is  at  once  wearisome  and 
hurtful  to  me  ;  silence,  and  the  company  of 
my  own  sombre  thoughts,  sad  probably,  but 
also  loving  and  beautiful,  are  wholesomer 
than  talking ;  these  and  a  little  serious  read- 
ing are  my  chief  resource.  I  have  no  bodily 
ailment,  except  what  belongs  to  the  grad- 
ual decay  of  a  digestive  faculty  which  was 
always  weak ;  except  when  sleepless  nights 
afflict  me  too  much,  I  have  no  reason  to  com- 
plain, but  the  contrary.  This  winter,  now 
nearly  done,  has  been  a  blusterous,  cold,  in- 
clement one  as  any  I  can  latterly  remember ; 
it  grew  at  last  to  tell  upon  me  as  the  un- 
f  riendliest  of  all  its  brethren  :  —  but  I  think, 
after  all,  it  may  have  done  me  little  or  no 
intrinsic  damage.  With  the  new  Spring  and 
its  bright  days  I  hope  to  awaken  again  and 
shake  away  this  torpor  of  nerves  and  mind. 
I  have  long  owed  Alick  a  letter  —  that  is  to 


242  LETTERS   OF  CARLYLE 

say,  intended  to  write  him  one,  though  by- 
count  it  is  his  turn.  I  often  think  of  you 
all  on  that  side  the  Sea  as  well  as  this;  if 
that  could  do  you  any  good.  Alas  !  I  will 
end  here,  dear  little  Sister ;  wishing  all  that 
is  good  to  you  and  yours,  as  at  all  times.  I 
am  and  remain, 

Ever  your  affectionate  Brother, 

T.  Carlyle. 

Send  a  newsjwper  with  3  strokes  when 
this  comes :  don't  trouble  yrself  with  any 
other  announcement. 

In  November,  1872,  Emerson  made  his 
last  visit  to  England.  Carlyle  was  now  re- 
duced to  writing  "  in  laro-ish  letters  with  blue 
pencil."  After  the  next  letter  he  never  wrote 
again  with  his  own  hand  to  Mrs.  Hanning 
or  to  any  member  of  the  family  across  the 
Atlantic. 

IiUI.     CARLYLE   TO   MRS.  HAJOnNG,  HAMILTON,  C.  W. 

Chelsea,  2  Jan?  1873. 

Dear  Sister  Jenny,  —  I  please  myself 
with  the  thought  that  you  will  accept  this  lit- 
tle Newyear's  Gift  from  me  as  a  sign  of  my 
unalterable  affection,  whh  tho'  it  is  obliged 


MARY  AITKEN  TO  MRS.  HANNING        243 

to  be  silent  (unable  to  write  as  o£  old)  cannot 
fade  away  until  I  myself  do !  Of  that  be 
always  sure,  my  dear  little  sister,  —  and  that 
if  in  anything  I  can  be  of  help  to  you  or 
yours,  I  right  willingly  will. 

"  ClinthhTs  "  Photograph  is  wonderful  and 
deeply  affecting  to  me.  Not  one  feature  in  it 
can  I  recognize  as  his  :  such  are  the  changes 
half-a-century  works  upon  us !  If  you  have 
any  means,  send  him  my  affectionate  remem- 
brances and  unchanged  good-wishes. 

No  more  from  this  lame  hand,  dear  sister 
Jenny,  —  except  my  heart's  blessings  for  the 
year  and  forever. 

Y.r  affect?  Brother, 

T.  Carlyle. 

liv.  miss  mart  carlyle  aitken  to  mrs.  hanning, 
hamilton,  c.  w. 

5  Cheyne  Row,  Chelsea, 
3  Feb.  1874. 

My  dear  Aunt,  —  Your  little  note  arrived 
duly  and  was  very  welcome ;  telling  as  it  did 
that  all  was  well  with  you  in  your  far  off 
home.  I  have  several  times  lately  intended 
to  write  to  you,  spontaneously,  but  some- 
how one's  time  seems  to  get  so  filled  up  that 
few  of  all  the  things  one  proposes  to  do  get 


244  LETTERS  OF  CABLYLE 

accomplished.  I  was  very  glad  of  the  little 
note  which  you  sent  sometime  ago  in  answer 
to  one  from  me,  and  would  have  taken  up 
Cousin  Kate's  Challenge  as  to  writing,  but 
had  a  great  deal  of  writing  to  do  at  that  time 
and  was  moreover  in  very  indifferent  health, 
—  or  I  certainly  should  have  written  to  her. 
I  hope  she  is  getting  on  well.  We  had  a 
very  good  account  of  her  from  Alick  and 
James  Carlyle  when  they  were  here. 

Uncle  has  been  pretty  well  all  the  winter, 
until  a  fortnight  ago,  when  he  caught  cold, 
which  has  troubled  him  a  good  deal ;  but  he 
is  getting  rid  of  it  now.  Last  August  he 
and  I  went  to  Norfolk,  and,  after  spending 
ten  days  very  pleasantly  there,  during  which 
time  he  seemed  every  day  to  grow  younger 
and  better,  we  turned  our  faces  to  the  north. 
After  a  disagreeable  journey  to  Newcastle  by 
steamer,  went  on  to  Dumfries,  where  we  found 
everybody  well ;  from  Dumfries  we  made  sev- 
eral excursions,  —  to  the  Gill,  where  all  were 
prospering,  and  especially  Jane,  who  used  to 
look  rather  thin  and  delicate,  was  looking 
very  well.  Aunt  Mary  is  one  of  the  kindest 
people  one  ever  sees;  she  looked  older  than 
she  did  when  I  saw  her  before ;  and  is  gener- 
ally rather  serious  than  livery.      They  have 


MARY  A1TKEN   TO  MRS.   HANNING        245 

got  on  their  farm  for  another  nineteen  years 
at  a  very  small  increase  of  rent,  which  must 
be  a  great  comfort  to  them.  We  one  day 
■went  to  Scotsbrig,  where  I  have  not  been 
more  than  about  three  times  in  my  life. 
John's  wife,  whom  I  never  saw  before,  looks 
very  amiable  and  gentle,  rather  than  clever 
and  smart ;  they  have  three  children,  one  boy 
and  two  girls,  one  of  the  latter  about  the 
prettiest  little  thing  I  ever  saw.  Uncle  Jamie 
had  unfortunately  made  a  mistake  as  to  the 
day  of  our  coming ;  so  that  we  did  not  see 
him  then ;  but  he  came  to  Dumfries  and  was 
looking  very  well ;  though,  poor  man,  he  has 
had  a  hard  enough  time  of  it  since ;  for  his 
daughter  Jenny  has  been  very  ill  all  the  win- 
ter; as  it  was  she  lost  her  little  daughter; 
and  last  Sunday  night  poor  Jenny's  long, 
painful  illness  ended  in  death.  I  think  she 
has  left  three  children.  It  must  be  a  cruel 
blow  to  Uncle  Jamie,  who  always  seemed  so 
fond  of  her.  We  have  been  expecting  no 
other  news  than  this  for  some  time  back ; 
but  when  death  comes  it  never  fails  to  sur- 
prize. There  have  been  a  great  many  deaths 
amongst  us  the  last  year  or  two ;  you  are  well 
off,  dear  Aunt,  to  have  all  your  children 
spared  to  you.     My  Mother  when  I  saw  her 


246  LETTERS   OF  CARLYLE 

in  Summer  did  not  seem  to  have  forgotten 
those  that  were  taken  away.  We  used  to  be 
very  fond  of  singing  songs  together  in  the 
evenings,  but  when  we  once  tried  it  last  time 
I  was  at  home,  one  after  another  of  us  broke 
down  until  we  had  to  give  up  the  one  solitary 
attempt.  At  Ecclefechan  I  went  with  the 
two  Uncles  to  see  the  houses  in  which  they 
were  born  and  also  to  see  Grandfather's  and 
Grandmother's  graves.  I  don't  remember 
ever  to  have  seen  Ecclefechan  before.  It  was 
a  very  interesting  day  we  spent ;  none  of  us 
were  in  high  spirits,  as  you  may  suppose  ;  but 
it  is  very  pleasant  to  me  to  look  back  upon 
the  visit.  Uncle  and  I  went  also  to  Fife  to 
visit  the  Welsh's  (Aunt  Jane's  Cousins)  and 
after  two  or  three  days  there  we  spent  a  day 
at  Haddington ;  staid  one  night  in  Edin- 
burgh and,  after  seeing  one  or  two  people 
there,  returned  to  Dumfries,  and  after  a  week 
or  two  to  Chelsea,  —  having  been  away  in  all 
only  about  six  weeks.  Uncle  was  not  very 
well  and  complained  of  the  noise  of  the  rail- 
way whistle  &c.  at  Dumfries ;  and  so  we 
were  not  sorry  to  be  back  to  Chelsea  again  j 
I  am  hoping  to  get  away  for  a  week  or 
two  this  spring  to  see  them  all  at  home,  if 
Miss  Welsh  comes  on  a  visit,  as  she  may  very 


MARY  AITKEN   TO  MRS.   HANNING        247 

possibly  do.  Uncle  has  not  been  working  at 
anything  lately  ;  he  spends  nearly  all  his  time 
in  reading.  I  am  very  glad  to  be  back  with 
him  again,  although  I  was  sorry  to  leave  the 
Taylors,  who  are  very  good  people,  and  were 
most  kind  to  me.  I  got  on  there  very  well, 
only  I  was  in  bad  health  nearly  all  the  time. 
However,  I  am  very  much  better  now. 

I  have  written  this  note,  or  rather  long 
scrawl,  in  great  haste ;  and  have  been  often 
interrupted,  so  I  hope  you  will  excuse  it  —  as, 
if  I  read  it  over,  I  shall  be  sure  not  to  send  it 
off  and  have  not  time  at  present  to  write 
another.  Uncle  sends  his  kindest  love  and 
best  wishes,  as  well  as  thanks  for  your 
kind  letter,  with  all  good  messages  from 
myself. 

Ever,  dear  Aunt, 

Your  affectionate 

Mary  Carlyle  Aitken. 

During  the  month  in  which  the  last  letter 
was  written,  Carlyle  received  the  Prussian 
Order  of  Merit,  and,  later  in  the  year,  re- 
fused the  Grand  Cross  of  the  Bath,  offered 
by  Disraeli. 

"  Bield  "  was  the  name  of  Alexander  Car- 
lyle's  farm. 


248  LETTERS  OF  CARLYLE 

lv.   carlyle  to  mrs.  hanning,  hamilton,  c.  w. 

5  Cheyne  Row,  Chelsea, 
12  April,  1875. 

My  dear  Sister  Jenny,  —  It  is  a  long 
time  since  I  have  heard  direct  from  you ;  and 
a  good  deal  longer  since  I  wrote  myself. 
But  we  see  all  your  letters  to  the  Dr.,  yours 
and  your  children's ;  and  I  hope  and  indeed 
even  know,  that  you  never  doubt  of  my  bro- 
therly remembrance  and  affectionate  thoughts 
of  you  all.  Silent  my  thoughts  are  obliged 
mostly  to  be,  for  my  hand  this  long  while 
back  is  quite  useless  for  writing  and  indeed 
even  by  dictation  I  never  do  write  except  on 
absolute  compulsion.  This  time  I  send  you  a 
small  practical  memorial  of  which  you  will 
see  the  nature  from  Adamson  the  Banker's 
little  note  enclosed  ;  which  I  hope  you  will 
have  no  difficulty  in  negotiating  and  turning 
into  dollars.  Pray  accept  it  kindly,  and  lay 
it  out  in  buying  yourself  any  little  thing  you 
find  useful  or  agreeable  to  you,  —  or  lay  it 
by  if  you  like  better,  added  to  any  little  pose 
of  your  own  against  a  rainy  day.  Do  not 
trouble  yourself  with  writing  any  answer ; 
merely  send  me  an  old  newspaper,  addressed 
in  your  own  hand  with  three  strokes,  which 


TO  MBS.  HANNING  249 

will  be  taken  as  a  sure  sign  that  you  have  got 
it  all  right. 

I  have  grown  very  old  (now  getting  fast 
forward  with  my  80th  year)  and  am  very 
weak  and  useless,  as  is  natural ;  but  by  bless- 
ing from  above,  still  wonderfully  keep  my 
health,  what  health  I  could  expect  to  have; 
and  have  suffered  little  or  nothing  by  the  late 
severe  winter,  which  also  I  find  has  been  so 
severe  with  you.  Take  care  of  yourself  in 
the  bitter  cold  when  it  comes  again ;  and 
above  all  provide  yourself  with  effectual  warm 
clothing.  I  read  with  interest  your  daugh- 
ter Mary's  letter  :  and  was  glad  after  all  that 
you  had  been  so  kind  as  to  go  to  Bield  on 
report  of  Billy  Bobby,  tho'  the  reception 
there  was  not  quite  of  the  kind  one  could 
have  wished.  Alas,  alas  !  Perversity  is  born 
with  us  all,  and  comes  out  in  little  touches, 
where  we  least  expected  it.  The  one  remedy 
is  to  crush  it  down  each  of  us  for  himself, 
and  in  respect  of  others  to  forgive  and  for- 
get. Our  spring  here  is  very  tardy ;  the 
weather  still  damp,  chill  and  disagreeable.  I 
hope  it  may  be  much  brighter  with  you, 
thanks  to  your  deep,  clear  skies ;  not  drowned 
in  mist  like  ours,  and  that  it  may  be  shining 
summer  when  this  arrives.     This  morning  we 


250  LETTERS   OF  CABLYLE 

had  a  letter  from  the  Dr.  who  reports  all  the 
kindred  well.  He  proposes  to  come  up  hither 
about  the  end  of  the  month ;  he  has  been 
much  more  quiescent  this  season  than  I  have 
often  known  him ;  but  is  about  to  move  at 
last.  God  bless  you  always,  dear  Jenny,  you 
and  yours. 

I  am  and  remain 

Ever  your  affectionate  Brother 

T.  Carlylb. 

Carlyle's  eightieth  birthday — December  4, 
1875  (year  of  "  Early  Kings  of  Norway"  and 
"  Portraits  of  John  Knox  ")  —  was  celebrated 
with  a  memorial  from  his  friends  and  "  a  whirl- 
wind of  gifts  and  congratulations."  In  Feb- 
ruary, 1876,  John  Forster  died,  and  in  April 
Carlyle's  brother  Alexander.  Carlyle  wrote 
in  his  Journal :  "  Young  Alick's  account  of 
his  death  is  altogether  interesting  —  a  scene 
of  sublime  simplicity,  great  and  solemn  under 
the  humblest  forms.  That  question  of  his, 
when  his  eyes  were  already  shut,  and  his 
mind  wavering  before  the  last  Jl?iis  of  all :  — 
1  Is  Tom  coming  from  Edinburgh  the  Morn  ? ' 
will  never  leave  me  should  I  live  a  hun- 
dred years.  Poor  Alick,  my  ever  faithful  bro- 
ther !  Come  back  across  wide  oceans  and  long 


TO  DR.  JOHN  CARLYLE  251 

decades  of  time  to  the  scenes  of  brotherly 
companionship  with  me,  and  going  out  of 
the  world  as  it  were  with  his  hand  in 
mine.  Many  times  he  convoyed  me  to  meet 
the  Dumfries  coach,  or  to  bring  me  home 
from  it,  and  full  of  bright  and  perfect  affec- 
tion always  were  those  meetings  and  part- 
mgs. 

The  last  bit  of  Carlyle's  writing  printed 
during  his  life  was  a  letter  to  the  "  Times," 
in  May,  1877,  on  the  Russo-Turkisk  war.  In 
the  same  year  Boehm  made  a  statue  of  Car- 
lyle,  and  Millais  a  portrait. 

"  24  Cheyne  Row  "  was  the  new  (and  pre- 
sent) numbering  of  Carlyle's  house. 

lvt.    carlyle  to  dr.  john"  carlyle,  dumfries. 

24  Cheyne  Row,  Chelsea, 
21  Sep.  1878. 

My  dear  Brother,  —  We  got  your  letter 
this  morning,  and  were  very  glad  to  hear  that 
things  went  so  tolerably  with  you  in  your 
present  sad  imprisonment.  We  had  not  the 
bit  of  bad  weather  you  speak  of,  or  had  it 
only  in  a  milder  type.  We  also  get  out  daily 
in  a  drive  of  two  hours  which  might  be  plea- 
santer  were  we  in  better  circumstances  to 
enjoy  it,  but  it  does  us  good   and  forms  a 


252  LETTERS   OF  CABLYLE 

variety  in  our  rather  stagnant  ways.  I  also 
contrive  to  get  some  modicum  of  sleep  every 
night  and  have  now  got  rested  from  the  great 
confusions  of  our  journey  hither,,  in  which  till 
Crewe  we  could  get  no  place  to  ourselves. 
The  scene  on  Carlisle  platform  was  beyond 
all  others  I  have  seen  the  most  chaotic  and 
disturbing  to  me.  The  Town  seems  quite 
empty  of  people  we  have  business  with.  We 
have  seen  only  Blakiston  and  his  Bessy  Blak- 
iston  is  as  nonsensical  as  formerly.  He  spoke 
of  writing  to  you,  but  I  know  not  whether  he 
has  done  it.  His  knowledge  about  your  cir- 
cumstances seems  to  me  to  amount  to  zero. 
Yesterday  we  called  at  Darwin's  door,  heard 
he  was  in  his  usual  way  of  health,  but  as 
nephews  of  his  had  just  driven  up  to  his  door, 
we  did  not  venture  in.  Froude  is  still  at 
Saltcombe  for  a  month  to  come.  Till  then 
does  not  make  his  appearance  here.  I  have 
nearly  done  my  reperusal  of  Frederick  and 
know  not  what  book  next  to  apply  to.  But 
something  I  will  devise  for  that  poor  purpose. 
The  Town  is  very  empty,  but  begins  in  a  slow 
way  to  repeople  itself. 

We  are  much  concerned  to  hear  by  James 
of  Newlands  that  poor  Austin  lies  at  the  Gill 
in  dangerous  circumstances ;  jaundice  is  the 


TO  DB.  JOHN  CARLYLE  253 

last  figure  of  his  illness.  May,  it  appears,  is 
in  her  usual  way.  Here  our  weather  is  gen- 
erally good  and  I  often  have  a  walk  down  to 
the  bottom  of  the  embankment,  which  is 
strange  and  I  suppose  salutary  to  me.  A  sad 
thought  to  me  in  this  operation  is  that,  alas, 
you  cannot  share  it  with  me,  or  for  the  pre- 
sent enjoy  anything  like  it.  No  word  from 
Canada,  but  certainly  some  must  be  coming. 
My  kindest  love  to  Jean.  Tell  her  if  I  had 
a  hand,  she  should  not  long  expect  a  letter 
from  me !  With  kindest  love  to  one  and  all 
of  you, 

I  ever  am 

Your  affecte  Brother, 

T.  Carlyle. 

Will  you  kindly  send  Emerson  back  when 
everybody  has  done  with  it. 

John  Carlyle  died  in  1879.  Carlyle  was 
now  growing  steadily  weaker,  and  by  October 
of  1880  was  under  the  constant  care  of  a  phy- 
sician. 

Mary  Aitken,  by  marriage  with  her  cousin 
Alexander  Carlyle,  was  now  become  "Mary 
Carlyle." 


254  LETTERS  OF  CARLYLE 


lvii.   mrs.  alexander  carlyle  to  mrs.  hanning, 
hamilton,  c.  w. 

24  Cheyne  Row,  Chelsea, 
18  July,  1880. 

My  dear  Aunt,  —  I  received  my  Cousin 
Mrs.  Barrel's  letter  about  ten  days  ago,  asking 
for  tidings  of  my  Uncle.  I  am  extremely 
sorry  that  you  have  been  made  anxious  about 
him  through  my  not  writing;  but  indeed 
there  have  been  many  sufficient  apologies 
for  my  want  of  punctuality  in  that  way, 
which,  however,  I  need  not  trouble  you  with 
here.  It  will  suffice  to  say  that  I  use  the 
very  first  chance  I  have  had  to  answer  your 
enquiries. 

It  is  not  very  easy  to  explain  to  you  exactly 
how  Uncle  is.  He  is  exceedingly  weak, 
hardly  able  to  walk  fifty  yards  without  help, 
and  yet  until  about  ten  days  ago,  when  he 
had  a  very  severe  attack  of  Diarrhoea  which 
has  left  him  much  below  par,  he  was  what 
one  might  call  for  him  very  well.  He  gener- 
ally spends  his  mornings  till  about  half  past 
two  o'clock  between  lying  on  the  sofa,  read- 
ing in  his  easy  chair,  and  smoking  an  occa- 
sional pipe ;  at  half  past  two  he  goes  out  to 
drive  for  two  or  two  and  a  half  hours,  sleeps 


JANET    CARLYLE    HANNING 

At  the  age  of  82 


MRS.  ALEX.  CARLYLE  TO  MRS.  HANNING     255 

on  the  sofa  till  dinner  time  (half  past  six) 
then  after  dinner  sleeps  again,  at  nine  has 
tea,  reads  or  smokes  or  talks,  or  lies  on  the 
sofa  till  bed  time,  which  is  usually  about  mid- 
night, and  so  ends  the  day.  He  looks  very 
well  in  the  face,  has  a  fine,  fresh  ruddy  com- 
plexion and  an  immense  quantity  of  white 
hair,  his  voice  is  clear  and  strong,  he  sees  and 
hears  quite  well ;  but  for  the  rest,  as  I  have 
said,  he  is  not  good  at  moving  about.  In 
general  he  is  wonderfully  good  humored  and 
contented ;  and  on  the  whole  carries  his 
eighty-four  years  well.  He  desires  me  to 
send  you  his  kind  love,  and  his  good  wishes : 
as  you  know,  he  writes  to  nobody  at  all.  I 
do  not  think  he  has  written  a  single  letter, 
even  dictated  one,  for  over  a  year. 

We  are  very  glad  to  hear  that  all  is  well 
with  you  and  with  all  your  family.  I  have 
not  time  for  more  just  now,  as  I  am  inter- 
rupted.    Good-bye,  dear  aunt. 

I  am,  Your  affectionate  Niece, 

Mary  Carlyle. 

Carlyle  died  on  the  5th  of  February,  1881. 
The  Abbey  was  offered,  but  refused ;  and, 
as  the  world  knows,  Carlyle  was  buried  in 
the  kirkyard  of  his  native  Ecclefechan.     The 


256  LETTERS  OF  CABLYLE 

following  narrative  of  the  funeral  is  from  the 
pen  of  Mr.  John  Carlyle  Aitken,  brother  to 
Mary  Aitken  Carlyle. 

One  likes  his  letters  less  than  his  sister's, 
which  are  perfect  in  their  unaffected  plain- 
ness. 

The  three  remaining  letters  need  neither 
explanation  nor  comment. 

LVUI.    MR.  JOHN   CARLYLE   AITKEN   TO   MRS.    HANNING, 
HAMILTON,  C.  W. 

The  Hill,  Dumfries,  N.  B. 
11  Feb.,  1881. 

My  dear  Aunt,  —  Today  I  mean  only  to 
write  a  note  of  the  more  needful  details,  re- 
serving for  a  more  fitting  time  the  full  state- 
ment. I  need  not  worry  you  with  the 
account  of  my  tempestuous  voyage  from  New 
York,  in  which  I  made  acquaintance  with  a 
hurricane,  and  its  full  meaning  —  nor  how 
glad  I  was  at  sight  of  the  dear  bare  and 
rugged  hills  of  my  native  land  —  Leaving 
America  to  the  Americans  —  and  welcome  ! 
I  shall  think  for  sometime  ere  I  do  the  "  her- 
ring-pond "  again !  Well,  no  more  of  that 
if  you  love  me !  no  more  o'  that !  I  am 
home,  and  well,  and  likely  to  remain  there 
for  the  remainder  of  my  days  in  one  shape 


MR.  AITKEN   TO  MRS.  HANNING  257 

or  other.      Let  that  serve  just  now  on  that 
score. 

You  would  observe  the  date  of  Uncle's 
death  and  might  hear  of  it  the  same  day,  as 
I  thought.  At  all  events  The  Scotsman  would 
supply  more  details ;  and  that  I  hope  reached 
you  all  right.  All  has  been  in  such  hurry, 
bustle  and  confusion  ever  since  that  no  one 
has  had  time  to  think  of  writing  anything 
requiring  time  or  calm  consideration.  Uncle 
had  not  been  considered  seriously  ill  more 
than  about  a  fortnight  or  so  before  the  end. 
The  vital  spark  of  life  towards  the  last  days 
kept  flickering  in  a  way  so  extraordinary  that 
the  Doctor  declared  he  had  never  met  such 
tenacity  of  life  and  vitality  in  the  whole 
course  of  his  varied  London  and  other  expe- 
rience. Dear  Uncle,  the  good,  true  and  noble 
old  man  that  he  was,  really  suffered  little  in 
the  way  of  pain  for  some  weeks  before  his 
death,  which  was  itself  little  more  than  a 
gentle  flickering  sleep,  ending  in  a  scarcely 
heard  last  sigh  of  sound.  While  lying  in  a 
comatose  or  unconscious  state  his  mind  seemed 
to  wander  back  to  old  Annandale  memories 
of  his  ever  loved  ones  and  their  surround- 
ings; his  mother  holding  her  supreme  seat 
surrounded  by  a   trooping   throng    of   once 


258  LETTERS   OF  CARLYLE 

familiar  faces,  not  very  greatly  less  dear  to 
him.  He  died  full  of  years,  with  all  his 
weary  task  of  world's  work  well  and  nobly 
done,  and  leaves  no  mortal  behind  him  who 
does  not  love  and  reverence  his  life  and  mem- 
ory. 

By  the  newspapers  I  send  today  you  may 
see  how  very  quiet  the  funeral  yesterday  was. 
The  vale  of  Annan  was  grim  and  wintry. 
You  could  catch  a  glimpse  of  Hoddam,  the 
Brownmuir,  Woodcockaigne,  and  all  the  old 
places  through  the  white  roupy  mist  hanging 
over  and  round  them.  The  most  touching 
sight  I  saw  was  that  of  three  gray  haired, 
smooth  crowned  fathers  of  the  village  of  Ee- 
clefechan,  who  stood  together  by  the  way- 
side, bare-headed  and  with  unfeigned  sadness 
of  face  and  manner  silently  and  impressively 
bearing  witness  to  their  sorrow.  It  was 
really  very  touching  to  look  upon.  The 
Presbyterian  Kirk  bells  tolled  mournfully  as 
they  laid  him  gently  in  the  bed  of  rest  within 
a  few  yards  of  the  place  where  he  first  drew 
the  breath  of  life,  and  all  was  as  unostenta- 
tious as  he  himself  desired  it  might  be.  Ah, 
me  !  Ah,  me  !  Uncle  James  was  there,  as 
the  last  male  link  of  the  ever  shortening 
chain.     Mother  bids  me  send  her  love  to  you 


MRS.  ALEX.  CARLYLE  TO  MRS.  HANNING     259 

and  your  fellow  mourners  who  here  and  over 
all  the  wide  world  are  many.  All  would 
gladly  unite  in  sympathy  and  love  with  you 
in  your  far  away  home. 

Ever  affectionately, 

John  C.  Aitken. 


lix.   mrs.  alexander  carlyle  to  mrs.  hanning, 
hamilton,  c.  w. 

24  Cheyne  Row,  Chelsea, 
3  March,  1881. 

My  dear  Aunt,  —  Alick  received  two  kind 
notes  from  you  and  Kate,  which  I  will  answer 
as  well  as  I  can.  The  news  itself  you  would 
receive  almost  too  soon !  When  we  were  at 
Dumfries  (where  we  stayed  from  Thursday  till 
Monday)  John  wrote  to  you  and  told  you  some 
particulars,  no  doubt  more  will  be  welcome, 
and  it  would  have  been  natural  we  should 
have  written  ere  this,  but  there  has  been  little 
composure  to  write  to  anyone,  and  a  very  great 
many  letters  coming  every  day  to  be  attended 
to  in  one  shape  or  another.  Last  July,  as  I 
think  I  told  you,  Uncle  had  a  short  though 
rather  bad  turn  of  illness  evidently  brought 
on  by  the  heat ;  he  seemed  to  a  great  extent 
to  recover  from  it,  but  he  never  got  up  any 
considerable  strength  after  it;  he  seemed  to 


260  LETTERS  OF  CARLYLE 

grow  a  little  weaker  month  by  month  and 
week  by  week.  He  was  out  on  New  Year's 
Day  for  the  last  time,  a  short  drive  of  an  hour 
or  so ;  he  complained  of  the  fatigue  very  much 
after  he  came  back.  He  was  confined  to  his 
bed  exactly  three  weeks  all  but  a  day.  Until 
the  last  few  days  he  was,  though  now  and  then 
delirious,  for  the  most  part  quiet  and  collected, 
and  able  to  talk  to  us,  which  he  did  with  great 
kindness  and  affection.  For  the  last  two  days 
and  nights  he  was  in  a  deep  unnatural  looking 
sleep,  and  except  once  when  he  seemed  to  be 
trying  to  speak  to  us,  and  he  said  distinctly 
"  Alick  "  —  and  "  Woman,"  he  hardly  once 
looked  up  or  moved.  On  Saturday  morning 
about  eight  (Alick  and  I  having  both  sat  up 
with  him)  I  was  in  the  room  alone,  and  at 
8.30  I  noticed  a  change  in  the  breathing,  at 
first  it  seemed  to  stop,  then  there  were  one  or 
two  louder  breaths  and  all  was  over.  In  the 
last  few  days  his  mind  seemed  to  turn  alto- 
gether to  the  old  Ecclefechan  days ;  he  often 
took  Alick  for  his  Father  (Uncle  Sandy)  and 
he  would  put  his  arms  round  my  neck  and  say 
to  me,  "  My  dear  Mother."  His  was  a  great 
and  noble  life.  I  have  no  words  to  tell  how 
much  I  miss  him  and  how  sad  I  feel  now  that 
he  is  gone.     I  am  sure  you  would  get  a  great 


MRS.  ALEX.  CARLYLE  TO  MRS.  HANNING     261 

shock  when  you  heard  of  it.  We  have  formed 
no  plans  yet  for  the  future,  but  we  mean  to 
keep  together  all  the  furniture  and  Books  in 
memory  of  him  as  long  as  we  live  and  not  to 
sell  any  part  of  them. 

In  Scotland  we  found  them  all  pretty  well. 
John  [her  brother]  was  there  as  you  know, 
looking  no  worse  for  his  multifarious  adven- 
tures in  America.  He  spoke  enthusiastically 
of  your  kindness  to  him  for  which  we  are  all 
most  grateful  to  you.  They  then  spoke  of 
writing  to  you  very  shortly.  Alick  and  I 
drove  to  the  Gill  one  afternoon  and  found 
them  all  pretty  well  there.  Aunt  Mary, 
though  complaining  of  a  bad  cold,  looked  as 
well  as  when  I  saw  her  before.  The  other 
branches  of  the  family  were  well,  but  as  we 
had  so  little  time  I  did  not  see  any  of  them. 
I  went  with  the  funeral  to  the  gate  of  the 
Kirkyard  at  poor  old  Ecclef echan ;  but  I  kept 
behind  the  curtain  in  the  carriage,  and  saw, 
or  was  seen  by  nobody.  I  hope  to  send  you 
some  little  memorial  of  him  and  I  will  not  for- 
get Kate's  request  for  some  little  thing  of  the 
kind.  I  hope  all  is  well  with  you  and  yours, 
dear  Aunt,  and  that  you  will  excuse  me  if  I 
have  failed  to  tell  you  anything  that  would  be 
interesting  to  you.     Give  Alick's  thanks  and 


262  LETTERS   OF  CAELYLE 

his  and  my  kind  regards  to  Kate,  and  with 
many  kind  regards  to  you  all, 
I  am, 

Ever  your  affectionate  Niece, 

Mary  Carlyle. 

An  anonymous  writer  sent  to  the  Pall  Mall 
Gazette  in  1885  a  record  of  travel  in  Dum- 
friesshire, with  the  title  Carlyle's  Country. 
A  selection  from  it  follows  :  — 

"  The  next  point  in  my  pilgrimage  was 
Mainhill,  a  farmhouse  about  two  miles  from 
the  village  of  Ecclefechan.  Here,  again,  I 
fancy  Mr.  Froude  gives  a  rather  erroneous 
impression.  The  situation  is  not  very  bleak 
or  cheerless,  nor  very  high ;  but  perhaps  he 
may  have  judged  of  it  by  the  day  he  visited 
the  place  —  on  the  day  when  Carlyle  was 
buried.  I  was  told  —  my  informant  being  no 
other  than  the  man  who  had  tolled  the  bell 
for  the  funeral  —  that  it  was  a  '  clarty  day  : ' 
and  as  the  term  was  to  me  technical,  I  had  it 
amplified :  '  It  blawed,  it  snawed,  an'  it  rained, 
an'  sleeted.     0,  it  was  verra  clarty  ! ' 

"On  such  a  day  I  can  well  understand  that 
Mainhill  would  be  dreary  enough.  It  was 
damp  and  wet  the  day  I  was  there,  and  I  car- 
ried away  from  the  farm  road  dust,  in  the  shape 


CABLYL&S  COUNTRY  263 

of  mud  ankle  deep,  that  refused  to  be  shaken 
off.  The  house  must  have  been  small  indeed 
for  such  a  family  as  the  Carlyles :  only  three 
rooms  of  any  kind  for  all  purposes,  no  '  upper 
ben  '  at  all :  apparently  the  sleeping  accom- 
modation was  arranged  as  on  shipboard,  by 
berths  one  above  the  other.  It  was  at  Main- 
hill  that  Carlyle  spent  his  vacations  during  his 
schoolmaster's  and  tutorship  period :  the  most 
miserable  and  unhappy  period  of  his  whole  life. 
Wandering  upon  the  hills  above  Mainhill  he 
meditated  on  his  unsuccessful  efforts  at  getting 
under  way,  and  had  it  not  been  for  the  kindly 
and  tolerant  refuge  he  here  found,  he  might 
well  have  ended  in  despair  all  his  valorous 
attempts  to  *  open  his  oyster : '  as  it  was,  he 
says, '  almost  had  I  desisted,  as  obstinately  did 
it  continue  shut.'  When  the  early  romance 
of  his  first  love  was  rudely  ended,  these  hills 
witnessed  the  weary  and  hopeless  journeyings 
which  are  magnified  into  the  world-wide 
wanderings  of  the  sorrows  of  Teufelsdrockh. 
Here  he  heard  pealing  in  his  ears  the  everlast- 
ing No,  and  sank  into  the  centre  of  indiffer- 
ence, and  finally  emerged  into  the  calmness  of 
the  everlasting  Yea.  I  purposed,  with  these 
thoughts  as  comrades,  a  walk  over  these  same 
hills,  Burnswark  and  its  neighboring  heights 


264  LETTERS  OF  CARLYLE 

—  but  alas!  the  heavenly  powers  forbade,  the 
landscape  was  blotted  out  by  foul  mists,  and 
the  drenching  rain  descended  and  effectually 
drove  me  back.  Gladly  did  I  take  refuge  in 
the  railway  station,  and  more  gladly,  though 
stiff  with  cold  and  weariness,  did  I  enter  the 
kindly  hostelry  at  Dumfries,  where  I  ate  the 
repast  of  the  hungry,  and  slept  the  sleep  of 
the  laboring  man,  which  is  sweet,  whether  he 
eat  little  or  much." 

After  describing  Craigenputtock,  the  writer 
in  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  continues :  — 

"  It  struck  me  as  a  little  strange  that  in  a 
house  so  associated  with  Carlyle,  given  by 
him  to  his  own  university,  there  should  be  no 
mark  or  token  of  the  connection.  Surely  the 
university  might  make  some  little  acknowledg- 
ment to  the  memory  of  the  donor  in  the 
house  he  had  given.  If  there  were  a  good 
engraving  of  him,  or  a  copy  of  his  works  — 
some  memento,  however  slight  —  it  would 
appear  more  gracious.  But  the  stranger 
might  come  and  go  away  and  never  know 
that  Craigenputtock  was  bequeathed  to  the 
University  of  Edinburgh  by  Thomas  Carlyle. 
I  next  retraced  my  way  over  the  moor  and 
down  to  the  valley.  I  changed  my  route 
here,  wishing  to  see  Auldgarth  Bridge,  and 


CABLYL&S  COUNTRY  265 

to  go  by  Templand  to  Thornhill,  and  thence 
to  Annan  once  more.  Auldgarth  is  hardly 
more  than  a  mile  from  Ellesland,  and  again 
it  seemed  hard  to  tear  one's  self  from  Burns, 
but  I  had  not  leisure  for  both.  From  Thorn- 
hill  the  steam  engine  whirls  me  back  to  Dum- 
fries and  on  to  Annan  once  more.  I  had 
only  one  more  spot  to  visit,  Scotsbrig,  near 
Ecclefechan,  and  I  could  spare  no  more  than 
another  day :  by  taking  an  early  train  from 
Annan  to  Kirtlebridge  and  thence  walking 
by  Birrens  and  Middlebie,  I  could  accomplish 
my  purpose.  It  was  still  early  —  before  nine 
o'clock  —  when  I  reached  the  farm  house  of 
Scotsbrig,  the  house  of  Carlyle's  parents  after 
their  removal  from  Mainhill,  and  then  of  his 
youngest  brother  James  till  a  few  years  ago. 
My  reception  here  was  anything  but  hospi- 
table. I  felt  myself  looked  upon  with  sus- 
picion as  some  kind  of  a  tramp,  and  to  none 
of  my  questions  could  I  get  more  than  a 
monosyllabic  answer.  The  morning  was  raw 
and  damp  and  ungenial,  a  drizzling  rain  was 
falling,  and  I  soon  left  Scotsbrig,  with  no  very 
pleasant  recollections.  The  farm  house  is 
prettily  situated  on  a  little  bluff  overhanging 
the  burn,  which  tumbles  over  the  rocks  in  a 
pretty  little  cascade  just  below  the  house.     A 


266  LETTERS   OF  CARLYLE 

tramp  through  the  muddy  roads  brought  me 
again  to  the  railway,  and  my  pilgrimage  was 
over." 

LX.      MR.    JOHN    CARLYLE   AITKEN   TO    MRS.    HANNING, 
HAMILTON,    C.  W. 

The  Hill,  Dumfries,  N.  B.,  11  May,  1890. 

My  dear  Aunt,  —  Although  long  ere  this 
reaches  you,  you  will  have  heard  the  sad 
news  of  the  death  of  Uncle  James  of  Scots- 
brig,  at  John  Carlyle,  his  son's  farm,  of  Pingle, 
some  ten  miles  nearer  the  English  Border 
than  Ecclefechan,  on  Sunday  morning  the 
fourth  of  May  at  two  o'clock. 

I  know  that  you  may  like  to  hear  anything 
in  the  shape  of  details.  We  were  all  very 
sad  to  think  that  the  last  brother  was  gone, 
although  in  the  course  of  human  things  other- 
wise  the  time  could  not  have  been  greatly 
extended.  He  had  been  pretty  well  confined 
to  the  house  and  to  his  bed  for  seven  weeks 
or  so  before,  and  John  C.  seemed  to  say 
that  the  end  was  rather  painful,  on  account 
of  his  sufferings  which  no  human  aid  could 
materially  alleviate,  than  unexpected  in  any 
way.  The  funeral  was  at  Ecclefechan  on 
Wednesday  the  seventh,  or  that  is  to  say, 
some  three  days  after  his  death.     And  I  was 


MR.  AITEEN   TO  MRS.  HANNING  207 

the  only  nephew  present  and  the  others  were 
grandsons,  two  of  Craigenputtock  and  three 
of  John's  own  sons,  all  nice  lads.  The  train 
started  from  Pingle  at  eleven,  coming  to 
Ecclefechan  by  way  of  Waterbeck  and  Mid- 
dlebie,  by  a  not  very  good  road  in  any  part, 
and  I  noticed  when  we  got  into  Ecclefechan 
the  school-house  clock  stood  at  twenty  min- 
utes to  two.  There  were  a  great  number  of 
people  at  the  funeral  in  gigs  and  on  foot,  a 
good  number  from  Ecclefechan  had  gone 
about  a  mile  out  towards  Middlebie  to  meet. 
It  was  a  cloudy  sunny  morning  with  great 
black  clouds  which  threatened  rain  all  day 
although  there  was  not  any,  and  the  sun's 
rays  came  darting  through  a  greyish  mist  in 
long  streaks  of  light  which  threw  into  relief 
Repentance  Hill,  Woodcockaigne,  and  the  si- 
lent-looking steeples  and  roofs  of  Ecclefechan 
itself,  in  a  strange  way.  As  I  arrived  at 
Ecclefechan  by  the  train  from  Dumfries 
which  reached  there  shortly  after  ten  without 
finding  anyone  else  going  there  on  the  same 
sad  errand,  I  walked  by  the  Common  and 
avoided  the  Main  Street  and  so  on  to  the 
Kirkyard. 

At  the  funeral  there  were  few,  even  among 
the  goodly  sprinkling  of  older  men,  whom  I 


268  LETTERS  OF  CAELYLE 

knew  either  by  sight  or  by  name,  and  who 
were  of  the  older  generation.  A  number  of 
the  younger  ones  I  knew,  or  could  guess  the 
names  of,  as  people  once  around  about  Scots- 
brisf  and  Middlebie.  One  notable  figure 
called  "  Auld  John  Kennedy,  the  Post,"  was 
pointed  out  to  John  Carlyle  for  some  recog- 
nition as  having  been  at  school  with  Uncle 
James.  A  queer  looking  little  man  of  small 
bulk  and  stature,  and  with  a  pair  of  small 
restless  eyes  which  under  the  excitement  of 
the  moment  appeared  as  if  they  might  loup 
out  of  his  head.  I  should  think  he  must 
have  been  on  the  borders  of  ninety  years  of 
age  by  his  appearance.  The  all  absorbed 
interest  and  the  earnestness  of  the  old  man's 
gaze  into  the  proceedings  as  he  held  both  his 
withered  hands  clenched  to  the  top  of  the 
iron  railings,  was  as  impressive  as  it  was  wae 
and  touching  to  look  upon.  So  soon  as  he 
might  —  John  Carlyle  went  to  shake  hands 
with  him,  and  I  did  so  too.  So  soon  as  the 
funeral  was  over  I  instantly  took  leave  and 
found  a  relief  in  walking  from  Ecclefechan 
all  the  way  to  Lockerbie,  rather  than  wait 
about  for  hours  for  a  suitable  train.  I 
glanced  at  Main  Hill  in  passing,  but  as  there 
is  an  addition  in  the  shape  of  a  new  dwelling 


PRESERVATION  OF  CARLYLE'S  HOUSE    269 

house  of  red  sandstone,  and  a  couple  of 
stories  high,  I  was  not  certain  about  its  iden- 
tity at  first,  until  I  had  it  confirmed  by  after 
inquiry. 

I  hope  you  have  been  in  as  fair  health  as 
you  could  wish  and  I  could  sincerely  wish, 
who  have  often  thought  of  you  and  yours, 
to  all  of  whom  please  offer  my  loving  wishes. 
All  here  are  well  and  would  wish  to  send 
their  love  also.  Ever  affectionately, 

J.  C.  Aitken. 

I  give  here  the  conclusion  of  Mr.  Reginald 
Blunt's  account  of  the  movement  to  preserve 
Carlyle's  house  :  — 

"  The  canvass  was  pushed  vigorously  for- 
ward from  the  beginning  of  1895.  Circulars 
and  letters  were  widely  distributed,  the  assist- 
ance of  libraries  throughout  the  country  was 
invoked,  and,  by  the  invitation  of  the  Lord 
Mayor,  a  crowded  meeting  was  held  at  the 
Mansion  House  at  the  end  of  February,  and 
addressed  by  Lord  Ripon,  the  United  States 
Ambassador,  Mr.  Leonard  Courtney,  Mr. 
Leslie  Stephen,  and  Mr.  Crockett.  Funds 
came  in  slowly,  but  steadily  ;  auxiliary  com- 
mittees were  formed  in  New  York  and  in 
Glasgow,  and  over  <£400  was  remitted  from 


270  LETTERS  OF  CABLYLE 

America.  By  the  end  of  April  about  £2000 
had  been  collected,  sufficient  to  complete  the 
purchase,  pay  the  expenses  of  the  fund,  and 
carry  out  part  of  the  essential  repairs.  The 
freehold  of  the  house  was  accordingly  bought 
in  May,  and,  after  a  careful  survey  of  its 
actual  condition,  the  necessary  works  were 
put  in  hand  at  the  end  of  the  month,  and 
completed  in  June. 

"  The  end  of  the  season  in  London,  and 
the  occurrence  of  a  General  Election  in  July, 
rendered  the  arrangement  of  any  opening 
ceremony  impossible,  and  the  House  was 
therefore  opened  informally  at  the  end  of 
July,  and  was  visited  by  over  a  thousand  per- 
sons, from  all  parts  of  the  world,  during  the 
next  six  weeks." 

In  December,  1897,  at  the  age  of  eighty- 
four,  died  Janet  Carlyle  Hanning,  the  last 
surviving  Carlyle  of  her  generation.  As  the 
reader  has  seen,  many  of  the  foregoing  let- 
ters were  addressed  to  her.  Those  which 
had  passed  between  other  members  of  the 
family,  and  were  afterward  either  carried  by 
her  beyond  seas  or  sent  to  her  in  Canada, 
were  preserved  by  Mrs.  Hanning  as  precious 
memorials  of  family  affection. 


INDEX 


INDEX 


Aitken,  Jean  Carlyle,  letter  to, 

190. 

Aitken,  John  Carlyle,  letters  of, 
to  Mrs.  Hanning,  256,  266. 

Aitken,  Mary  Carlyle,  Carlyle's 
amanuensis,  238 ;  letter  to  Mrs. 
Hanning,  243 ;  married  to  Alex- 
ander Carlyle,  253.  See,  also, 
Mrs.  Alexander  Carlyle. 

Annandale,  Carlyle's  fondness  for, 
26, 202 ;  funeral  scene  at,  258. 

Ashburton,  Lady,  220 ;  generosity 
of,  229. 

Austin,  Mrs.  James,  letter  to,  169. 

Bield,  204, 249. 

Blunt,   Keginald,   The    Carlyles' 

Chelsea  Home,  213. 
Boehm,  his  statue  of  Carlyle,  251. 
Bullers,  the,  86 ;  Carlyle's  visits  to, 

102,  133. 

Carlyle,  Alexander,  birth  of,  39; 
proposed  emigration  of,  80;  at 
Ecclefechan,  88;  in  America, 
163 ;  letter  to,  201 ;  death  of,  250 ; 
Carlyle's  lament  on,  250. 

Carlyle,  James,  birth  of,  39; 
"  Maister  Cairlill,"  43 ;  his  farm, 
81,  82 ;  in  old  age,  245 ;  death  of, 
266 ;  burial  of,  267. 

Carlyle,  Jane  Welsh,  wit  of,  25, 51, 
100, 108 ;  her  marriage  with  Car- 
lyle, 43 ;  ill-health  of,  78,  97, 178, 
223;  letter  from,  to  Mrs.  Han- 
ning, 196;  her  view  of  marital 
duty,  197 ;  accident  to,  231 ;  death 
of,  234 ;  burial-place  of,  234 ;  Car- 
lyle's memory  of  her  music,  235. 

Carlyle,  Janet,  birth  of,  39;  mar- 
riage of,  to  Robert  Hanning,  37 ; 


housekeeping  skill  of,  40 ;  help- 
fulness of,  41;  letter  to,  43.  See, 
also,  Hanning,  Janet  Carlyle. 

Carlyle,  Jean,  birth  of,  39 ;  home  at 
Dumfries,  83.  See,  also,  Aitken, 
Jean  Carlyle. 

Carlyle,  John,  birth  of,  39 ;  physi- 
cian to  Lady  Clare,  52,  57 ;  in 
Rome,  69,  78, 82 ;  in  London,  122, 
124;  letter  to,  172;  translation 
of  Dante,  182 ;  later  life  of,  219, 
240;  letters  to,  172,  251;  family 
of,  219 ;  death  of,  253. 

Carlyle,  John  Aitken,  letter  from, 
to  Mrs.  Hanning,  198. 

Carlyle,  Margaret  A.,  her  love  for 
her  children,  27,  29 ;  death  of, 
31,  210 ;  letters  from,  to  Mrs. 
Hanning,  63,  75,  93,  147 ;  to  Car- 
lyle, 146;  her  religious  feeling, 
65,  75,  93 ;  letters  to,  102, 112, 118, 
124,  127, 132, 148,  154, 156, 160,  162, 
177,  180,  182,  185;  difficulty  at 
writing,  146 ;  fondness  for  books, 
203;  birth  of,  217;  portrait  of, 
217. 

Carlyle,  Mrs.  Alexander,  letters 
from,  to  Mrs.  Hanning,  254,  259. 

Carlyle,  Thomas,  his  melancholy, 
6,  53,  60,  99,  195  ;  humor,  9  ;  dis- 
likes, 10 ;  likes,  12 ;  mysticism, 
16;  religious  faith,  16,  31,  44, 
164, 211,  239 ;  opinion  of  the  lit- 
erary world,  18 ;  pension  offered, 
18;  habit  of  scorn,  19;  realism 
of,  20;  portraits  of  places,  21, 
29, 49, 133 ;  portraits  of  persons, 
23,  24, 86, 93, 99 ;  style,  25 ;  burial- 
place,  32 ;  birth  of,  42  ;  attends 
Edinburgh  University,  42 ;  mar- 
riage, 43 ;  letters  from,  to  Mrs. 


274 


INDEX 


Hanning,  43,  52,  61,  66,  77,  87,  96, 
105,  109, 115,  129, 150, 175, 187, 192, 
206,  210,  217,  220,  223, 226, 229, 232, 
236, 238,  242,  248 ;  to  his  mother, 
102,  112,  118, 124, 127, 132, 148, 154, 
156,  160,  162,  177, 180,  182,  185 ;  to 
Edward  Fitzgerald,  143 ;  to  Mrs. 
Austin,  169;  to  John  Carlyle, 
172, 251 ;  to  Mrs.  Aitken,  190 ;  to 
Alexander  Carlyle,  201 ;  his  life 
in  Edinburgh,  46 ;  goes  to  Lon- 
don, 48;  poverty,  49,  103,  120, 
123;  delivers  lectures,  74,  98; 
his  horses:  Citoyenne,  94,  100, 
103;  Black  Duncan,  177,  178; 
Fritz,  229,  230;  Noggs,  229; 
Comet,  238;  visit  to  Manches- 
ter, 95;  work  for  London  Li- 
brary, 99 ;  generosity,  104,  111, 
131, 169,  180, 188, 192,  209,  221, 225, 
226,  229,  232,  236,  238,  242,  248; 
publishes  lectures,  112, 113 ;  de- 
clines Chair  of  History  at  Edin- 
burgh, 116;  visits  Cromwell's 
country,  134;  writes  Past  and 
Present,  153;  difficulty  in  get- 
ting materials,  173;  his  pessi- 
mism, 203,  207 ;  work-room,  213 ; 
elected  Lord  Kector  of  Edin- 
burgh, 233;  receives  Prussian 
Order  of  Merit,  247;  refuses 
Grand  Cross  of  the  Bath,  247; 
letter  to  Dr.  John  Carlyle,  251 ; 
his  death,  255,  260 ;  burial,  256, 
258 ;  memorial  to,  269. 

Chartism,  success  of,  98. 

Cheyne  Kow,  Carlyle's  home  in, 
49,  50 ;  description  of,  49. 

Cook,  Anne,  52. 

Craigenputtock,  scenery  of,  8 ; 
loneliness  of,  45 ;  quietness  of, 
49,  108;  work  done  there,  72; 
Mrs.  Carlyle  comes  into  posses- 
sion of,  123;  given  to  the  Uni- 
versity of  Edinburgh,  264. 

Cromwell,  Oliver,  lectures  on,  98 ; 
visit  to  home  of,  134. 

Cromwell,  Oliver,  Life  of,  begun, 
105,  108;  work  upon,  120,  126, 
160;  finished,  179;  new  edition 
of,  187. 


Darwin,  Charles,  252. 

De    Quincey,  Thomas,   Carlyle's 

portrait  of,  24. 
Diamond  Necklace,  The,  47,  72. 
Dickens,  Charles,  his  admiration 

for  French  Kevolution,85;  meets 

Carlyle,  108 ;  readings  of,  228. 
Diderot,  memoirs  of,  46. 
Disraeli,  Benjamin,  offers  Carlyle 

pension  and  Grand  Cross  of  the 

Bath,  18,  247. 
Divine  Eight  of  Squires,  The,  119. 
Dumfries,  Mrs.  Hanning  at,  187, 

192 ;  Carlyle  visits,  244, 259 ;  Dr. 

Carlyle  there,  240. 

Ecclefechan,  birthplace  of  Car- 
lyle, 42,  89,  246;  burial-place  of 
Carlyle,  255,  258,  261. 

Edinburgh,  Carlyle  attends  Uni- 
versity of,  42 ;  Carlyle  goes  to 
live  at,  46;  Carlyle  declines 
Chair  of  History,  116 ;  Dr.  Car- 
lyle at,  228 ;  Carlyle,  Lord  Kec- 
tor of  University  of,  234. 

Eisenach,  Carlyle's  description  of, 
30. 

Emerson,  Ralph  Waldo,  visit  of, 
to  Mrs.  Hanning,  39;  visit  to 
Carlyle,  47 ;  friendliness  of,  52 ; 
letter  to,  53;  last  visit  to  Eng- 
land, 242. 

Erskine,  Thomas,  friendship  of, 
with  Carlyle,  101,  105,  154,  187; 
death  of,  238. 

Fame,  Carlyle's  estimate  of,  119. 

Fitzgerald,  Edward,about  Naseby 
Field,  140. 

Fraser's  Magazine,  Cagliostro  ap- 
pears in,  47;  Sartor  Resartus 
appears  in,  50 ;  Diamond  Neck- 
lace, The,  appears  in,  72. 

Frederick  the  Great,  preparation 
for,  205,  215 ;  toil  upon,  221,  224, 
227,  229  ;  finished,  231. 

French  Revolution,  inception  of, 
46 ;  work  upon,  51,  53,  65 ;  com- 
pletion of,  66;  reception  of,  in 
France,  85 ;  reception  of,  in  Eng- 
land, 85 ;  reviews  of,  86. 


INDEX 


275 


Froucle,  James  Anthony,  in  error, 
39, 45, 77 ;  friendship  of, with  Car- 
lyle,  50,  252 ;  reference  of,  to  Jef- 
frey, 156. 

German  Literature,  Carlyle's  lec- 
tures on,  74. 

Gill,  the,  described,  168. 

Goethe,  Johann  Wolfgang,  Car- 
lyle's discipleship  of,  45. 

Haddington,  Mrs.  Carlyle's  burial- 
place  at,  234,  246. 

Hamilton,  C.  W.,  Mrs.  Hanning 
moves  to,  199;  Mrs.  Hanning's 
home,  225  ;  Bank,  226,  232. 

Hanning,  Janet  Carlyle,  emigra- 
tion of,  to  Canada,  38,  195,  196, 
204 ;  letters  to,  52,  54,  61,  63,  66, 
75,  77,  87,  93,  96,  105,  109,  115.  129, 
147,  150, 175, 187, 192, 196, 198,  206, 
210,  217,  220,  223,  226, 229, 232,  236, 
238, 242, 243,  248,  254, 256, 259, 266 ; 
residence  of,  at  Manchester,  56, 
95 ;  residence  of,  at  Kirtlebridge, 
96;  residence  of,  at  Dumfries, 
187,  192,  204;  residence  of,  at 
Hamilton,  199, 225 ;  death  of,  270. 
See,  also,  Carlyle,  Janet. 

Hanning,  Robert,  character  of,  38 ; 
Carlyle's  regard  for,  55, 107 ;  fa- 
ther of,  90;  his  emigration  to 
America,  96, 117. 

Hunt,  Leigh,  his  assistance  to 
Carlyle,  49. 

Influenza,  Carlyle's  account  of, 
70. 

Jeffrey,  Francis,  his  refusal  to 
recommend  Carlyle,  47;  Car- 
lyle's comment  on,  158. 

Journal,  Carlyle's,  extracts  from, 
60, 250. 

Kirtlebridge,  home  of  the  Han- 

nings  at,  96. 
Knox,  John,  98. 

Latter-Day  Pamphlets,  195. 
Library,    London,  the,  Carlyle's 


work  for,  99 ;  of  the  British  Mu- 
seum, the,  126, 174. 

Llanblethian,  22. 

London,  Carlyle  moves  to,  48; 
weather  of,  111. 

Mainhill,  surroundings  of,  262; 
house  of  the  Carlyles  at,  263. 

Manchester,  Mrs.  Hanning's  resi- 
dence at,  56;  Carlyle's  impres- 
sions of,  95. 

Martineau,  Harriet,  74;  visit  of 
Carlyle  to,  115. 

Mill,  John  Stuart,  Carlyle's  friend- 
ship with,  45;  and  the  French 
Revolution,  51. 

Millais,  his  portrait  of  Carlyle, 
251. 

Milnes,  Richard  Monckton,  visit 
to,  114. 

Mirabeau,  Carlyle's  Memoirs  of, 
60. 

Mitchell,  Helen,  117. 

Naseby,  Carlyle's  description  of, 
29, 145 ;  Edward  Fitzgerald's  ac- 
count of,  139. 

Neuberg,  Mr.,  service  to  Carlyle, 
206. 

Newby,  115. 

Oliphant,  Mrs.,  sketch  of  Carlyle, 
234. 

Past  and  Present,  153. 
Portraits  of  Carlyle,  162, 167,  206, 
209,  251. 

Queen,  the,  attempts  on  her  life, 
128 ;  converses  with  Carlyle, 
238. 

Ruskin,  John,  228. 

Sartor  Resartus,  early  failure  of, 

50;   American   edition   of,   52; 

later  success  of,  113 ;  inception 

of,  263. 
Scotsbrig,  Carlyle's  description  of, 

21, 168 ;  visits  to,  80, 191 ;  another 

account  of,  265. 


276 


INDEX 


Smail,  Betty,  history  of,  86 ;  help- 
fulness of,  91. 

Sterlings,  the,  91. 

Sterling,  John,  50 ;  regard  of,  for 
Carlyle,  171 ;  illness  of,  174;  Car- 
lyle's  life  of,  197. 

Templand,  123. 

Tennyson,  Alfred,  Carlyle's  por- 
trait of,  99. 

Teufelsdrockh,  Carlyle's  fondness 
for,  113. 


Thackeray,  W.  M.,  Carlyle's  ac- 
count of,  86. 

Tobacco,  Carlyle's  fondness  for, 
114, 136, 138, 155,  168, 181,  186, 255 ; 
Mrs.  Margaret  Carlyle's  use  of, 
92. 

Troston,  Carlyle's  visit  there,  133, 
148. 

Webster,   Daniel,  Carlyle's   por- 
trait of,  23. 
Welsh,  Mrs.,  death  of,  123. 


<3C&e  Rfoerpibe  $re« 

CAMBRIDGE,    MASSACHUSETTS,    U.    S.   A. 

ELECTROTYPED  AND   PRINTED    BY 

H.  O.  HOUGHTON  AND  CO. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


UNi" 


'  •  ..  i 


PR         Cariyle  - 

Ult-33     Letters  of  Thomas 

A3 Carlvle 


1899 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA  000  365  507  3 


PR 

Ui33 

A3 

1899 


